tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205546452019-01-16T23:59:06.639-08:00Daily AdventuresRUNNING THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN LIFEGretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.comBlogger257125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-58687824844520436262018-07-17T23:12:00.000-07:002018-07-17T23:12:42.520-07:00With a Little Help from my Friends (A TRT 100 Preview)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: times, &quot;times new roman&quot;, serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: times, &quot;times new roman&quot;, serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I cheer so loudly for my friends who are racing that another spectator asks if I’m for hire, but you can’t put a price on that shit.”</i><span style="font-family: times, &quot;times new roman&quot;, serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"> &nbsp;-Julia Millon </span><a href="https://donnerpartymountainrunners.com/2017/06/30/it-has-to-start-somewhere-western-states-100/" style="font-family: times, &quot;times new roman&quot;, serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank">at Western States, 2017</a></div><b id="docs-internal-guid-4b32504a-ab89-2ff4-4151-bc5e5a7cf140" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On June 23rd of this year, while most of my running community from far and wide was gathered in my home town for Western States (a.k.a. “Statesmas” a.k.a. “The Big Dance”), I headed to a track in Claremont, CA. An entirely different slice of my running community - teammates and alumni of my college track team (Claremont-Mudd-Scripps) - were gathered at the track, not for a competition, but for a celebration. It was Coach Goldhammer’s 65th birthday.<br /><br />I’ve talked often about how running connects me with other people, and Coach was the first one to teach me the importance of the running community. It was apparent in the crowd of athletes who showed up for the celebration, as well as in the many words of kindness and love we all had for Coach. So even though it was a bit painful turning down the opportunity to pace Jenelle at States and seeing so many friends go for their dreams that weekend, I knew I wanted to see Coach and reconnect with the track &amp; field kids.<br /><br />I’m ruminating on these things, I suppose, in that quiet search for the reason why I run. I mean, there are always a lot of reasons to run. But seriously, what’s <i>the</i> reason? Because it’s not to get faster; that clearly isn’t happening at the moment. And it’s not to “push my limits just to see how far I can take them,” which I used to claim as the reason. I’m just not doing a lot of pushing these days. Running can feel so utterly and completely unimportant.&nbsp;</span><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But something keeps pulling me out there, even if less often and at a slower pace.<br /><br />The idea of community keeps rising up as the reason, which I wrote a bit about last summer. I don’t know that it’s entirely the answer either, but my running friends and the broader running community have lately felt more important than ever.</span><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1EqkluijTEg/W0696vEfmOI/AAAAAAAAK6I/UvnKbi9K7Cwy2it4ieCqCRNU5YbDq5nFQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2675.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1EqkluijTEg/W0696vEfmOI/AAAAAAAAK6I/UvnKbi9K7Cwy2it4ieCqCRNU5YbDq5nFQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_2675.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Devil's Oven Aid Station crew hauling supplies back down the trail, Castle Peak 100K 2017. It takes a village. (Naomi, Kysenya, Steve, Me.)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">~</span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />Twenty days before Coach’s birthday bash, I was in the middle of my last high-mileage training block for the Tahoe Rim Trail 100. Given that my spring training had more holes in it that the Pizzagate conspiracy theory, I knew it was a critical three weeks of training before I would begin my taper.<br /><br />After experiencing a calf strain earlier in the week, I had taken a few days off, and was setting out on a solo 30 mile run from the house which would take me out the Donner Lake Rim Trail and along the PCT before looping home through Coldstream Canyon. About 20 yards down the trail, something snapped in my calf and I collapsed to the ground in pain. I knew it wouldn’t bear weight, and as I sat in the dirt, tears streaming down my face from both pain and fear, I saw my entire future as a runner laid out before me.<br /><br />Clearly TRT 100 in six weeks was off the table - the injury was too serious. Failing to finish (or even start) both TRT and <a href="https://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2018/05/the-miwok-live-wire-fun-run.html" target="_blank">Miwok</a>, meant I would be without a Western States qualifier this year, and my 5-year-lottery-loser ticket count would return to zero. I would probably be 55 or 60-years-old by the time I got in to the race, and fuck it, I don’t even really want to run States that much anyway. In fact, why even bother with running? There are so many other things I could be doing with my time. I’m totally over it. I hate running. I quit.<br /><br />Just like that.<br /><br />Here is the text exchange with Jamie and Jenelle the following morning:<br /></span> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2DsSCMEmkSU/W06-vowoSBI/AAAAAAAAK6U/YFFJhMkw_B0yqyOD1vVOV7WP-h6dNZtvwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_5021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2DsSCMEmkSU/W06-vowoSBI/AAAAAAAAK6U/YFFJhMkw_B0yqyOD1vVOV7WP-h6dNZtvwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_5021.jpg" width="223" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>This is what you call support from friends. Friends who have been there!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />I didn’t even have to send a real cry for help, and my friends filled me back up full of hope. <i>Okay, fine, maybe I won’t quit running just yet.</i> Jenelle gave me a recommendation for a sports medicine doctor and told me about the anti-gravity treadmill at Truckee Physical Therapy that is open to the public. My friend Ann Marie squeezed me in for some massages. I went to physical therapy twice a week for three weeks, and I dusted my road bike off and went for some long rides. My calf has been black-and-blue for a month from all the soft tissue work. <br /><br />In short: I didn’t run at all, but I didn’t quit running.<br /><br />~<br /><br />On May 29th, a week before the injury, I had two missed calls from Jenelle and a text message that said “Please call me when you have a minute.” I knew it must mean bad news, and I called her immediately. It wasn’t actually bad; it was horrible. I am grateful Jenelle didn’t bother with any pretense at cushioning a blow that could not possibly be cushioned before bursting through her tears, “Julia’s dead!” <br /><br />We spent the next half-hour crying on the phone together trying to understand what happened to our friend and why, me slumped on the floor in the mudroom and Jenelle on a nighttime run through the woods because sometimes that is the only real option for handling overwhelming pain and grief.<br /><br />This idea that we will never run with Julia again - never hear her laugh or make a snarky remark, never have her come up behind us on the downhill, hear the increasing volume of her footfalls beat a joyful tattoo on the dirt until she flies past us - it is painful and slow to digest. And that is nothing compared to the knowledge that <i>she</i> won’t get to run with <i>anyone</i>. Ever again. No running, no laughing or crying. No sharing anything. The reality of being 27-years-old and full of life one day, and then suddenly not. Not existing at all. It just feels so fucking unfair.</span><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NHSa--d5XYI/W07An5-CPhI/AAAAAAAAK6w/S5zG9XGPDuco628tznAsAOGBvBV9p5jJwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_2663.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1233" data-original-width="1600" height="307" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NHSa--d5XYI/W07An5-CPhI/AAAAAAAAK6w/S5zG9XGPDuco628tznAsAOGBvBV9p5jJwCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_2663.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Julia, our medical officer, putting a runner's hip back into place at the Devil's Oven aid station during the 2017 Castle Peak 100K. I took this picture because I was so impressed with her ability to take charge of this person's pain, decide what needed to be done, and just do it. At 26-years-old, she projected skill and confidence that I struggle to find in myself at 44.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The Tahoe Rim Trail 100 is now three days away. In spite of a complete lack of serious training, I’ll be toeing the line. I keep trying to remind myself that <a href="https://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-magic-and-madness-of-hardrock-100.html">I finished Hardrock after five weeks of barely running</a>, so finishing this is definitely possible. The big difference though is that I had been in the best shape of my life just before that five weeks of illness in 2012. This time? Not so much. Not even close.</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’m trying to approach it as an adventure rather than a race. Finishing is a huge question mark, and time is not a factor. Except, of course, those cutoff times. Dr. Andy, who will be at Tunnel Creek all weekend, likened my attempt to the Dread Pirate Roberts, who, after being “mostly dead all day,” still managed to storm the castle successfully. I have no doubt that there will be plenty of “mostly dead” in my story, but I will accept whatever ending plays out, fairy tale or otherwise.</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My sister is coming out to crew, and her presence at my hundred-mile races is starting to become mandatory. I’ve got a pacer who has promised to go the entire second half of the race with me, no matter how slow it is nor how poor my company. I’ve been trying to brace them both for the reality that this will be slower and with greater potential for problems than usual, but I think they get it. Because that’s just how this sport can be, and that’s how good friends are.</span><br /><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sWb37OR-aJY/Vgg3QGX-SdI/AAAAAAAAKhM/zO0oEDXhQD0KqA7Ekmf_u_q4demoJEm2ACPcBGAYYCw/s1600/blogger-image-2016216983.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sWb37OR-aJY/Vgg3QGX-SdI/AAAAAAAAKhM/zO0oEDXhQD0KqA7Ekmf_u_q4demoJEm2ACPcBGAYYCw/s400/blogger-image-2016216983.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>With my sister, Laura, before the start of <a href="https://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2015/09/running-with-wolves-superior-100.html" target="_blank">the 2015 Superior 100</a>.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The excitement I have about seeing friends out on the course is almost silly to explain. For a number of years, I’ve worked the night shift at the Tunnel Creek aid station, sometimes after running the 50M or 55K race during the day. It’s a great crew, and now I have a sense of relief knowing I will see them all out there, hopefully the full six times that 100 mile runners travel through TC.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CsgFI5fSpsQ/W06-mTO5gkI/AAAAAAAAK6Y/WzHc1YAt1T4DnpuoufUY_xygw_YDLXXCQCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_5035.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CsgFI5fSpsQ/W06-mTO5gkI/AAAAAAAAK6Y/WzHc1YAt1T4DnpuoufUY_xygw_YDLXXCQCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_5035.PNG" width="223" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>A sampling of replies on my Facebook post stating that I would be running Saturday, but with very little training. All these comments are from Tunnel Creek volunteers.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This being essentially my hometown 100, I know I’ll see friends all over the course, not just at Tunnel Creek. I know that no matter how awful I look or how slow I’m moving, they will tell me I’m a rockstar. And I will totally, absolutely believe them. Ultrarunners are great at lying to each other, and to ourselves, if that’s what it takes to make it happen.<br /><br />~<br /><br />Last summer I paced my friend Donald for nearly 15 hours through the final 30 miles of the Hardrock 100. That may sound like a painfully slow walk, but from my perspective, it was awesome. For one, the mountains were incredible. And when you have told someone nearly a hundred times “yes, we are still on the course,” and “yes, I’m sure”; when you have sat in the dirt with them while they puked all over the wildflowers; when you have heard them wax poetic on the wonders of having an out-of-body experience at 2:00 AM on the trail (also known as sleepwalking, I’m thinking), you know that the whole thing really is just one grand and glorious adventure. </span><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hEgsSFp23RY/W07C_be6ZbI/AAAAAAAAK64/4w8CtfLuL_Qx9022-8mI3P4gPX6NqApVgCLcBGAs/s1600/20245797_10214311765097323_6478497375978200071_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hEgsSFp23RY/W07C_be6ZbI/AAAAAAAAK64/4w8CtfLuL_Qx9022-8mI3P4gPX6NqApVgCLcBGAs/s400/20245797_10214311765097323_6478497375978200071_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Chasing Donald through the wildflowers on Oscar's Pass during Hardrock.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Incidentally, Donald will be returning the favor by pacing me this weekend. While I hope not to be puking on the wildflowers, or on anything else for that matter, I will be delighted if I am upright, moving, and ahead of the cutoffs for the last 30 miles. Here is our text exchange from last week:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1KpcZ33Yfg0/W07DX1_RrYI/AAAAAAAAK7E/gGN-3k4ORdMOUFgDEt7cL9Ed04xG4TfiwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_5022.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1KpcZ33Yfg0/W07DX1_RrYI/AAAAAAAAK7E/gGN-3k4ORdMOUFgDEt7cL9Ed04xG4TfiwCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_5022.PNG" width="179" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /><br />So either he does kind of know me, or he knows this is just how ultrarunning is. Probably both.<br /><br />~<br /><br />There is little left to do now but pack my drop bags and check the race-day forecast 20 or 30 more times. Jamie texted this morning with the news that she signed up for Javelina, and Jenelle and I both replied within a minute that we wanted to come. I’m already planning our theme costumes for the event. Maybe my sister will want to come out and help crew.<br /><br />Ultimately I know that whether I finish TRT or not, if I never get into Western States, if I quit running and come back to it a hundred more times in my life, it is all precious. Trail running, like life, requires embracing the fear, the joy, the struggles, the teamwork. The feelings of failure and the feelings of triumph. The devastation and loss. <br /><br />It makes sense, then, that we make some of our strongest connections with the people with whom we share these experiences. Without these friends and this community, I wouldn’t even be showing up on Saturday, and you sure as hell can’t put a price on that.<br /><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BCXVvP1DCgI/W07ABTTlnAI/AAAAAAAAK6o/wVZ2xKsF9bw9JIx_Biz2wyOTi3_AzwfxwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BCXVvP1DCgI/W07ABTTlnAI/AAAAAAAAK6o/wVZ2xKsF9bw9JIx_Biz2wyOTi3_AzwfxwCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_4135.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>This is Julia crossing Volcano Creek on March 31, the last day Jenelle and I ever saw her. I love this photo because even though it is missing the broad Julia smile, she looks strong and determined. Those two words sum up a big piece of who she was and who we can all aspire to be.</i></span>&nbsp;</td></tr></tbody></table><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div><i>"Because when you keep showing up, at some point you'll see something you never considered to be possible. And you automatically beat anyone who didn't show up, including the version of yourself who could have tapped out."</i>&nbsp; - <a href="https://juliarmillon.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Julia Millon</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-91808049699105460012018-05-06T22:59:00.001-07:002018-05-06T23:10:51.848-07:00The Miwok Live Wire Fun Run<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7SaUZdw3HuI/Wu_tzic6xzI/AAAAAAAAK5I/S3aKrpIrnNMst1qmM8EonufVXPc5b3nlwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_4492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7SaUZdw3HuI/Wu_tzic6xzI/AAAAAAAAK5I/S3aKrpIrnNMst1qmM8EonufVXPc5b3nlwCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_4492.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">The last few years of my ultrarunning “career” have seen slowing times and fewer races on my schedule. I could chalk this diminishing display up to age and let that take the full burden of excuse. However, not only are ultrarunners themselves evidence that being 44 doesn’t necessarily mean you get slower, I also know that if age plays any role at all, it’s a minor one. The truth is that I just haven’t been as motivated to train in the last couple of years.</span></span><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">So it does not surprise me that, while I was not terribly excited about running a 100k race, I do have a lot to say about the joys I found at Marin’s Miwok trail race this Saturday. Spoiler alert: They do not include running 100K. </span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">I had spent the week leading up to race day on a field trip to Washington D.C. with 22 middle school students. (This is where people generally interrupt me to say, “God bless you!”) Our schedule was packed, and I arrived home at 2:00 AM Friday morning exhausted and with the beginnings of a cold. When I awoke nine hours later, my head felt like the size of a hot air balloon and I had a raging headache. I gamely packed up my running gear and drove to Pt. Reyes to crash with my friends Heidi and Kerry before the race.</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">When the alarm went off at 3:15, I was kind of dreading my day. I loaded up on cold medicine and coffee though, and by the time I was in the car heading south on highway one, I felt pretty reasonable. Maybe the day would not turn out to be an unending sufferfest </span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">after all</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">?</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">Just two miles out from Stinson Beach and the start of the race, I learned that my day would indeed not turn out as expected.</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">The sight of several cars pulled over and flares burning across the road greeted me. I wondered if this was overflow parking for the race, and I pulled over into the first available space. When I approached the flares, I could see that the road was blocked off.</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TGP10tRVf00/Wu_ZlkwwQiI/AAAAAAAAK3k/pSD4G4Zz9CM4x1SePOItpf7OyJN3yntDQCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_4449.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Roadblock! If you look closely, you can actually see the downed line that zapped our day.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TGP10tRVf00/Wu_ZlkwwQiI/AAAAAAAAK3k/pSD4G4Zz9CM4x1SePOItpf7OyJN3yntDQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_4449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">“What’s going on?” I asked a woman in a down jacket, who turned out to be Laura Richard. Laura and I both had Cool, Sonoma, and Miwok on our schedules, so we’d been seeing each other all spring.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">“The road’s blocked off because of an accident,” she said.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">There was a handful of other runners there trying to figure out what to do. &nbsp;When the police said they didn’t know when the road would reopen because there was a downed power line across it, I ran back to my car and got onto my phone to try mapping an alternate route to the start. I knew going back through Olema and all the way to Mill Valley would mean missing the start of the race, but maybe there was another way?</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">“Hi! Can we jump in with you?” The woman knocking on my car window startled me. After explaining that she and her grandpa had been taking a Lyft ride from their campground to the start, I encouraged her to get in but to hurry! A small sense of panic was beginning to overtake me. I knew we would make the start, but I hated being late.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The woman’s name turned out to be Heidi, and she navigated while I drove. The first option was to take Fairfax-Bolinas Road - an unpleasantly windy affair - up to Ridgecrest Boulevard. I chewed up the one-lane </span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">roller coaster</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"> as fast as I could, vainly hoping Grandpa Dan wasn’t getting carsick in the back. When we spotted headlights coming back toward us, I had a sinking feeling. I pulled over and rolled down my window to get the news.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">“There’s a gate at the top, and it’s locked.” It was Laura again.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">“Shit!” came my reply. I’m not supper witty at four AM in a state of duress. “What are you guys going to do?”</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">“Go back down to the roadblock to see if it’s open yet,” she replied. “Going all the way around would take well over an hour.”</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">I agreed that there was no point to that. It was already nearing the 5:00 AM start time of the race. So, I turned my car around and followed her.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">And that’s how, when the 2018 Miwok 100K runners took off into the dark of the morning, I found myself with ten or fifteen other runners standing at a roadblock on highway one. Trapped.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">We tried hard to negotiate with the officer at the barricade. We could literally see the downed line right there, and we could see that anyone could easily drive, or even walk, around it.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">“If you can get by on foot some way that is not on the highway, that’s fine by me,” he even told us. It was only a little over two miles to the start, and seriously, what the hell is the difference between running 62 miles and 64 miles, right? But I swear you have never seen such a tangle of blackberry brambles and swampland. We tried bushwacking. We tried fording the lagoon. We tried begging the officer a little more. As the sky brightened, our hopes faded, and we knew our race day dreams were dashed.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">Laura finally got a phone call through to Tia, the race director, to at least let her know what had happened. After that, we quit trying to pretend that we could somehow negotiate a late start, and instead started making plans for our day.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">Laura called her pacer, and they decided to run a double Dipsea. Several other men made plans for a trail run on the south end of the course. I hooked up with three other runners, including Heidi, and decided to start from the Randall aid station (which was just down the road, on OUR side of the barrier) and run to the start at Stinson and back. We hoped we could talk to Tia and see if there was anything she could do for us.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nXq9KG_2AuQ/Wu_Z0zPT5yI/AAAAAAAAK4Y/X2rIlEaLwCE_ix6Gybo2DK-h7Z-MyL2hQCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_4505.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Four thwarted Miwok runners and two of their crew.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nXq9KG_2AuQ/Wu_Z0zPT5yI/AAAAAAAAK4Y/X2rIlEaLwCE_ix6Gybo2DK-h7Z-MyL2hQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_4505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">I’ll be totally honest. Given the fact that I was a little undertrained and definitely sick, I was not completely devastated about the turn of events. I will admit that I had really wanted to check the box on getting my States qualifier, but I knew I had TRT 100 in July where I could make that happen. Other runners were not so lucky. Also, of the four runners in my group, I had traveled the shortest distance to get there. And I had already run Miwok twice before! I knew I really had nothing to complain about.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">So, no States qualifier on this Saturday in May. But what I did get was a wonderful 28 mile trail run with three new friends whom I will definitely be seeing again.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">As we began the hike up Randall Trail to Bolinas Ridge, we traded names and the usual pleasantries of first time trail running. We learned Heidi, from San Clemente and mother of two young boys, is a “Disnerd” and has two prominent Disney tattoos - one of the hitchhiking ghost from Haunted Mansion, and the other of Dumbo. They were hard to see while running, but they were loud and proud on the front of her thighs, and I loved it. David, a doctor from Dallas (or sometimes Couer D’Alene), gave us a solid lesson on racing nutrition. This was of great interest to Bryant, from Bozeman, who had been planning on running his first 100K that day.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sk3QT6HHR5g/Wu_ZmdG3KqI/AAAAAAAAK3o/yC1krMC1LNgcDeodGOp0mx6eT_wQ3ud-ACLcBGAs/s640/IMG_4452.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Making our way up Randall Trail</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sk3QT6HHR5g/Wu_ZmdG3KqI/AAAAAAAAK3o/yC1krMC1LNgcDeodGOp0mx6eT_wQ3ud-ACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_4452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-338b92fe-38f6-c64d-a19e-fc8a5fc51021"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">I felt heartbroken for them all. I mean, flying all the way in from Bozeman or Dallas? Missing your first 100K? Driving the entire family in an RV the full nine hours from Orange County? I recognized how much each of them had invested in this day - from training, to travel plans, to taking the time off from a bartending job on Cinco de Mayo. These are not small things. And there was not a bitter word among them. Disappointment, of course. But as we made frequent stops to “ooh and ah” at the landscape and take photos, I watched with appreciation as they still found incredible pleasure in their experiences. Damn if ultrarunners aren’t the most resilient people.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zEolG-FJW2Y/Wu_ZlkutpDI/AAAAAAAAK3g/Dk9_Leob_aAWVQ1swxq1h2GUOSMu5wn5ACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_4459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zEolG-FJW2Y/Wu_ZlkutpDI/AAAAAAAAK3g/Dk9_Leob_aAWVQ1swxq1h2GUOSMu5wn5ACLcBGAs/s640/IMG_4459.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1038" data-original-width="1600" height="414" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zw0ZxrVgx6U/Wu_Z1MgBTuI/AAAAAAAAK44/Jdo_63Y_H8oZN_0Mr4DDxrYV-JiuBWI-QCEwYBhgL/s640/IMG_4503.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>David, Heidi, and Bryant on the Bolinas Ridge.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zw0ZxrVgx6U/Wu_Z1MgBTuI/AAAAAAAAK44/Jdo_63Y_H8oZN_0Mr4DDxrYV-JiuBWI-QCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1134" data-original-width="1600" height="452" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K2N0EXsqibg/Wu_ZzzHeX4I/AAAAAAAAK48/_-aYtUdc0OgbWw6cEHjWxzxsLrWmY5rkACEwYBhgL/s640/IMG_4502.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Heidi and Bryant. Check out those awesome Disnerd tats!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K2N0EXsqibg/Wu_ZzzHeX4I/AAAAAAAAK48/_-aYtUdc0OgbWw6cEHjWxzxsLrWmY5rkACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4502.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="1600" height="502" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tQD2gkZwb00/Wu_ZxeSxpiI/AAAAAAAAK4s/CtqX8lBWbEwTrUVxIMaZmaPajtHMFtL9wCEwYBhgL/s640/IMG_4498.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Bryant enjoys the sunshine on the grassy hills of Bolinas Ridge.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tQD2gkZwb00/Wu_ZxeSxpiI/AAAAAAAAK4s/CtqX8lBWbEwTrUVxIMaZmaPajtHMFtL9wCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1535" data-original-width="1600" height="382" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3myIu0HhI3U/Wu_Z1AV2y4I/AAAAAAAAK48/lpw7Ybt_ejcgmpi2CvJ6rjzB2_xK48H8wCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_4504.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Spring!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3myIu0HhI3U/Wu_Z1AV2y4I/AAAAAAAAK48/lpw7Ybt_ejcgmpi2CvJ6rjzB2_xK48H8wCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1600" height="512" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2ezKSEDDUE0/Wu_Zxr0fWII/AAAAAAAAK4w/0iZGbSfdeVAsGWVBvSDnCwQZEJzGxbfbwCEwYBhgL/s640/IMG_4499.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>David leads Heidi across the sunny ridge.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2ezKSEDDUE0/Wu_Zxr0fWII/AAAAAAAAK4w/0iZGbSfdeVAsGWVBvSDnCwQZEJzGxbfbwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dwcJnTGIh3Q/Wu_ZyNm-WwI/AAAAAAAAK48/3ysxxWXSR3Eby_G2IUGG7cPRVVykDccDQCEwYBhgL/s640/IMG_4501.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Enjoying the morning views.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dwcJnTGIh3Q/Wu_ZyNm-WwI/AAAAAAAAK48/3ysxxWXSR3Eby_G2IUGG7cPRVVykDccDQCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3zs2qTB6Zls/Wu_ZdDACIAI/AAAAAAAAK4k/XFeOvOE-2gAZPbrh5DO9KZyDV5ox-NE1wCEwYBhgL/s640/miwok_truck.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>This was NOT the wreck that blocked the road. (Photo: Bryant Schwartz)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3zs2qTB6Zls/Wu_ZdDACIAI/AAAAAAAAK4k/XFeOvOE-2gAZPbrh5DO9KZyDV5ox-NE1wCEwYBhgL/s1600/miwok_truck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">After negotiating the steep beauty of the Matt Davis Trail, we arrived in Stinson to see the finish line already set up, and I took pleasure in running through hooting and hollering, arms overhead in triumph, as the volunteers clapped and cheered. I even had my “fake finish line photo” taken.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">Tia graciously told us we would get free entries into next year’s race, and I think that gave us all great relief. Given that the roadblock was no one’s fault, least of all hers, I knew that was generous of her. The volunteers said we were officially known as the “Live Wire Runners” because of the downed power line thing. I kind of felt cool that we had our own nickname. We discussed screening “Live Wire Runners” onto the back of our race shirts.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">I am incredibly grateful to be given another chance at this race, and excited that Bryant, Heidi, and David all said they would also return to run next year. Reunion!</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-R6BXhMih6CQ/Wu_ZvZ6TnoI/AAAAAAAAK48/VtljBLdXWe87WspcYdXfmKFmmL-RunKMACEwYBhgL/s640/IMG_4497.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>My official fake finish line photo. First woman! (Actually, that's fake too. Heidi was first.)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-R6BXhMih6CQ/Wu_ZvZ6TnoI/AAAAAAAAK48/VtljBLdXWe87WspcYdXfmKFmmL-RunKMACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">The run back was entertaining because we got to run with a lot of the top men for a while. We spread out a bit, and Heidi sent a message that she was returning to Stinson to meet up with her husband. When we arrived at the Bolinas aid station (which hadn’t been there our first time through), they were confused about who we were until we told them we were Live Wire Runners.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">“Oh! Live Wires!” the radio operator declared. “Oh yeah, come on into the aid station and get what you need.” Needless to say, the volunteers were incredibly nice. I even got a homemade lemon square that I’m pretty sure was part of the “volunteers only food.” Delicious!</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tWJNoYphI64/Wu_ZxBDoQNI/AAAAAAAAK48/Nj1xugT6WYEJ9IJH1N7OvVv4qHM63_ZEACEwYBhgL/s640/IMG_4496.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="480" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>More spring!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tWJNoYphI64/Wu_ZxBDoQNI/AAAAAAAAK48/Nj1xugT6WYEJ9IJH1N7OvVv4qHM63_ZEACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"> &nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Onuf9QxqdEc/Wu_ZqgqsyfI/AAAAAAAAK48/Z77ygVdyBZQsJv4028fGabAH9sLK7VF2gCEwYBhgL/s640/IMG_4482.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Bolinas aid station</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Onuf9QxqdEc/Wu_ZqgqsyfI/AAAAAAAAK48/Z77ygVdyBZQsJv4028fGabAH9sLK7VF2gCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4482.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">The scene at the Randall aid station was much different this time around. It was absolutely hopping! As I approached, I first ran into Jenelle hiking up the trail. It was so great to see a friend, and I felt like I was getting cheering and support just as if I were actually running the race myself. At the aid station, I got hugs from Kacey Greene and Louis Secreto, and since this was the official end to my run, I had another finish line photo taken. Because why not.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6bOers-NiDA/Wu_ZZE29Z6I/AAAAAAAAK40/zubHHOeu9l4by3xokp7m8HWtYDTytXxJgCEwYBhgL/s640/randall%2BFinish.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="480" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>My actual finish line photo from the Miwok Live Wire Fun Run (Photo: Jenelle Potvin)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6bOers-NiDA/Wu_ZZE29Z6I/AAAAAAAAK40/zubHHOeu9l4by3xokp7m8HWtYDTytXxJgCEwYBhgL/s1600/randall%2BFinish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-338b92fe-38fe-ab9e-b6f8-88b0da2eba95"></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">I hung around Randall long enough to see friends Curt, Chris, and Kelly come through. My cold medicine was wearing off though, and my head was throbbing again. My down jacket also wasn’t quite enough to keep me from feeling the icy wind, and I decided to grab my race swag and head back to Pt. Reyes.</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MQVx8IPeSfo/Wu_Zt96RCtI/AAAAAAAAK44/ciIAJ1FQn8EjmWxmW4mUvR-3VZqu0LCkwCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_4495.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Kelly Barber kicking ass and handing out smiles.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MQVx8IPeSfo/Wu_Zt96RCtI/AAAAAAAAK44/ciIAJ1FQn8EjmWxmW4mUvR-3VZqu0LCkwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-338b92fe-3900-61b9-40bb-78b060c35a49"></span></span><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">I spent the rest of the afternoon in the beautiful sunshine of Tomales Bay drinking wine with good friends. Another bonus of running 28 miles instead of 62.</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8klEpDAM4qU/Wu_ZriI_JDI/AAAAAAAAK4o/9buah-dr7rI-aMUXRCo1wJkLR747PqLgACEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_4494.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Coastal stroll with Heidi (Pt. Reyes Heidi, not runner Heidi).</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8klEpDAM4qU/Wu_ZriI_JDI/AAAAAAAAK4o/9buah-dr7rI-aMUXRCo1wJkLR747PqLgACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></a></div><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a28qC-wluTU/Wu_ZrxPABbI/AAAAAAAAK4o/7JmeRZ6Tz-g7KNPhZfNHU-bwBK7cTXcHgCEwYBhgL/s640/IMG_4493.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Tully, living the dream on Tomales Bay.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a28qC-wluTU/Wu_ZrxPABbI/AAAAAAAAK4o/7JmeRZ6Tz-g7KNPhZfNHU-bwBK7cTXcHgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i></i></span></a></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">As I said to Jenelle while we ran down Randall Trail together, it’s definitely a blow to the ego these days returning to races where I used to run fast. (<a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2011/05/miwok-100k-2011.html" target="_blank">10:43 at Miwok 2011</a> - Who the hell was that chick??) But I also think it’s kind of good for me. It forces me to recognize the other things I love about running and racing besides just being competitive and pushing my limits. I love being outside in the beauty of nature, and more than anything, I love, adore, absolutely cherish this community. From the support of friends like Kacey and Jenelle, to the opportunity to share the trail with three strangers-turned-friends with amazing attitudes, the trail running community never fails to rekindle my spirit.</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">Congratulations to all the runners - official and Live Wires alike. I am already looking forward to seeing everyone at Miwok 2019. Hopefully for 100K this time around, but I’ll take what I can get.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br />Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-39628905453781014142017-07-08T15:55:00.004-07:002017-07-08T15:55:34.297-07:00Losing My Religion<br /><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I’ve met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, … Didn’t I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness? Can’t I see how we’re all manifestations of love?<br />I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God’s got this all wrong.<br />We are not special.<br />We are not crap or trash, either.<br />We just are.<br />We just are, and what happens just happens.<br />And God says, “No, that’s not right.”<br /><br />Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can’t teach God anything.</i><br /><br />― Chuck Palahniuk, <i>Fight Club</i></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My favorite local coffee shop in town does that thing where they have two tip jars, and wherever you put your tip is answering a question. For example, this morning’s question was “Which Harrison Ford?” The two tip jars were labeled “Han Solo” and “Indiana Jones.” I’ll confess, I paused a long moment deciding in which jar to drop my coins. (I mean, seriously, could there be a more difficult frivolous question? They are both my #1 answer!)&nbsp;</span><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have a pretty good time checking out what categories they come up with every day, and studies show that these “category” tip jars actually garner more tips than unlabeled jars. This is because it’s the very nature of our brains to want to put things into categories.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Categories, and their corresponding labels, help our brains make sense of large amounts of information quickly. I’ll skip the cognitive psychology lecture for you though. What’s important to know is that the labels our brains create (aka schema) work really well for most things in this world, but they create a lot of problems when we apply them to human beings. It is much more difficult to imagine and see people for the complex individuals that we are, and our brain actively fights this by wanting to categorize everyone. This, of course, is how we end up with ugly things like racism, sexism, classism, etc.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Lately, I’ve been pondering not only how we put others into categories, but ourselves as well. We see ourselves in very specific ways, and sometimes I wonder which came first - the labels we have for ourselves, or the behaviors that give us those labels.&nbsp;</span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">And what happens when those things change, but no one wants to change their label for you?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">&nbsp;~&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">When I was 22, I was nearing the end of a six-month road trip with my friend Charlie, and her biggest stress in those final days of traveling was what she called “ having an identity crisis.”</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">“Who am I,” she asked fretfully, “if I’m not a nomadic adventurer living out of a van?”&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">It was a label she was about to lose - one that she liked very much.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">~&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Here’s a good test of the labels people have for you. When people introduce you at a party, what’s the tidbit of info they share about you? Mine, without fail, is always exactly the same.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">“This is Gretchen. She runs hundred-mile marathons.”&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Although I completely, 100% identify as a Runner with a capital “R,” I still cringe lately when I hear this introduction. It’s not just that I have to bite my tongue and politely refrain from informing people that there is no such thing as a hundred-mile marathon, that a marathon is a specific distance of 26.2 miles (okay, unless you’re in South Africa, but I digress). It’s mostly the fact that then I have to talk about myself. Specifically, I am obligated to talk about running “hundred-mile marathons.”&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">But lately, I feel completely talked-out on the subject. I’ve written thousands of words on it. Like, what else could I possibly have to say about it? I didn’t even write a race report for my last hundred-miler because meh. I didn’t care to.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">When I run into people around town, or see friends I haven’t seen in a long time, the conversation inevitably starts with, “How’s the running going?” And lately, the answer is always, “Oh, I’m not doing much running lately.” (And invariably, no one believes me.)&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Like I said, I completely identify as a runner, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. When something has been such an ingrained part of your life for so long, it doesn't just disappear. I also don’t think you need to be actively doing it to still see it as a part of you. But here’s the thing: I’m starting to realize that might be the only thing people see me as. A runner.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Before training for ultras sucked all of my time away, I was many things. A rock climber, a painter, a knitter, a skier, a photographer. I think it’s fine that I don’t have as much time for those things; it’s all a choice. But I still see them as part of who I am. Labels that fit me.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">You know what I’m getting off on these days? Teaching. No joke. This is what’s taking up all of my time.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">It’s not because I’ve become some crazy workaholic. Ha! Never. It’s because I’ve somehow reached this magical little place in my career where things are interesting and exciting, where I am supported professionally and creatively, where I have confidence in my skills but a drive to learn moremoremore every day. It is quite possible, in fact, that it is learning that I love more than teaching.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I struggle to explain it all adequately, but somehow, the passion and creativity that used to go into writing, that used to fuel me through 80-mile training weeks, is all going into my classroom. And it’s FUN.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">It seems ironic to me that “teacher” is a label that most of my friends do not ascribe to me. Or maybe they do, but it just doesn’t sound as exciting as “runs hundred-mile marathons.”&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I don’t know that this joyride through my career will last forever, but I’m onboard until the tracks run out. And since summer vacation began in mid-June, I’ve been dipping my toes back into some of those other identities. Rock climber, guitar player, maybe even writer.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">~&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">In the past, my training has been fueled by my love of racing. For some reason, it’s not fashionable for non-elite runners to admit to competitiveness. This is especially true, I think, for women. But I’ll go ahead and own it. I have always loved racing. Even when I’ve had less-than-optimal fitness, I’ve nearly always toed the line at races with an intention to throw down my best performance. I mean, otherwise, what’s the point, right?&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I love running, but signing up for a race has always been what gets me out the door to train. I am religious about writing out a season-long training plan for myself, and meticulous about recording the results of each day’s workout.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Or at least, I used to be.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">At the moment, racing just isn't as sacred as it once was, and the daily prayer of going for a run is most often left unsaid.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">So I guess it’s not surprising that a waning interest in racing over the last few years has led to a dramatic drop in my running mileage. That’s okay. I have other labels to embody.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Since the Broken Arrow Skyrace in mid-June, my racing calendar has been completely blank. It’s something of a disconcerting feeling, but there’s also something new and exciting about it. It’s as though, with no specific goals to train for, I am rediscovering other reasons I love to run.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Community appears to be a big reason. At least half of my runs in the past month have been with friends and/or group runs with the Donner Party Mountain Runners. These people give me a reason to get out the door, and they are completely awesome to boot.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Meditative alone time is clearly my other motivation. I’ve written many times before about <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2011/10/tomorrow-we-will-run-faster.html" target="_blank">the relationship between running and writing</a>, so it comes as no surprise to me that when my running mileage drops so too does my inspiration to write. Most of my writing is an act of reflection, a processing of my experience or that of others, and that reflection nearly always begins when I am out on the trails. Without that uninterrupted time for my mind to wander, to give my thoughts the freedom to follow any path and see where it leads, I find it nearly impossible to squeeze my enormous emotions and jumbled ideas into the inadequate packages of words, sentences, and paragraphs.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">~&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">We all take on roles and identities throughout the course of our lives - ones that evolve and change. Child, student, athlete, nerd, musician, parent, teacher, artist, lover. The ones that stay with us the longest may have the most impact on shaping how others see us and how we see ourselves. Girl, daughter, runner, friend.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">While it’s not so easy to shed these various identities like dirty clothes at the end of the day, maybe we can still claim them even if it’s not who we are every day. When I am injured, I am a runner. When I am uninspired and write nothing, I am a writer. When I only lace up my shoes one day a week (or month), I am a runner. When I write horrifically bad poetry that no one will ever see, I am a writer. When I run three miles instead of ten (or 30, or 100), I am a runner. When the only writing I do is writing comments and feedback for revision on student papers, I am a writer.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">What I find somewhat surprising is that, of those two identities - runner and writer - the one I miss the most right now is writer.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">&nbsp;~&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">The more labels I pin to myself, the more I feel I am defying any single one of them. Of course, we all defy our labels, in spite of our brains’ need to have them. Is this because we are all “unique snowflakes of special unique specialness”? Not exactly. I think we just are who we are, and human beings can be a difficult puzzle to solve.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I think that for people to understand and connect with one another, we must, as author John Green encourages in many of his writings, imagine others complexly. This includes how we imagine and see ourselves. Snowflakes are unique, but puzzles are complex.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">~&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">This summer, I have embarked on a quest to rekindle the fire of my various passions. No teaching - it’s time for EVERYTHING ELSE!&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This includes running, which, I’m not kidding, I feel like I’m completely rediscovering. In a very low-mileage way, that is. I returned from an early morning track workout with DPMR one day this week and declared, wide-eyed, to Andrew, “God, I feel </span><i style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">so good!</i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">” Like, what a wondrous&nbsp;thing! Who knew?&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It also includes writing. Even if all I manage to cobble together is a collection of confusing and somewhat unrelated thoughts about labels and identity and running.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Running and writing: the Han Solo and Indiana Jones of my identities. They are both my #1 answer.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KHL5OPu8fLY/WWFYQQ3O8dI/AAAAAAAAK0o/0inSZPmGyiQ0rfLPFvtuJyvp8TZ-Jb1dQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="1600" height="332" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KHL5OPu8fLY/WWFYQQ3O8dI/AAAAAAAAK0o/0inSZPmGyiQ0rfLPFvtuJyvp8TZ-Jb1dQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_1497.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>New identity: Ski Mountaineer. (Mt. Shasta summit, 14,180')&nbsp;</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-90057587079472940752017-07-06T15:59:00.000-07:002017-07-07T15:58:17.914-07:00The Canyons 100K ~ 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Author's Note: I wrote this piece back in May, shortly after the Canyons took place. What follows is the "first draft" of the significantly shorter piece that came out in Ultrarunning this month. To be honest, I don't consider myself a really strong writer, but what I am is a crack editor. I can usually take a horrid first draft, revise it, hack it back by at least 30%, and turn it into something reasonable. </i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>What I learned writing this piece is that the approach to writing something that is 800 words is wholly different than the approach to writing something that is 2,500 words. Like, I already knew this in theory, but oh man. Now I know it in practice. Even a good editor struggles when faced with reducing the word count by 60% while still maintaining the essence of the original piece. Next time, I will limit my "horrid first draft" to 1000 words. </i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>So, it's not that this version is really any better than what you'll see in print. But I spent so much time on it, that I felt compelled to share the director's cut. If you can't get enough of The Canyons, then read on.</i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>~</i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Canyons Endurance Runs take place every spring on the historic Western States Trail out of Foresthill, and I’ll tell you a secret: April is the best time of year to run here.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Part of RD Chaz Sheya’s vision for the event is to provide an opportunity for every runner to experience this storied trail.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“The reality is, it can take a really long time to get an entry into the Western States 100. It took me six years,” he shared. It’s clear from his voice that he’s passionate about offering that access to all runners, especially those from out of the area who might not have the trail knowledge to come run it on their own. “You want to race on the Western States trail? Cool. Here’s a race where you can just sign up and come run it!”</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This year, on the last Saturday in April, 400 runners do just that. Like many of the other 100K entrants, my primary goal for the day is simply to finish with a Western States qualifier. Anyone who came here expecting an easy 100K qualifier though will be in for a surprise. The Canyons can dish out suffering and disappointment with the attitude of a much longer race.</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WmPjm8LOeec/WV63bZj9HFI/AAAAAAAAKz0/SNg1eWwV6OYoJQubVokgPoyfFn9pIR24ACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1320" data-original-width="984" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WmPjm8LOeec/WV63bZj9HFI/AAAAAAAAKz0/SNg1eWwV6OYoJQubVokgPoyfFn9pIR24ACLcBGAs/s320/IMG_1158.JPG" width="238" /></a></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The first half of the 100K course heads north out of Foresthill through the namesake iconic canyons of the Western States trail. This half is by far the most difficult part of the race, consisting of an out-and-back across three steep canyons. Preserving any running ability for the second, more runnable half of the race requires a great deal of conservative pacing through the steep descents and climbs of the canyons.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My first worry of the race meets us at mile two in the form of Volcano Creek. All spring, as snow in the high country melted, this creek crossing had grown deeper and more challenging. Two weeks prior, it had been nearly waist deep at the crossing, with immense force from the rushing current.</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RipUKBRwa1o/WV67Ago0VqI/AAAAAAAAKz8/uzImHORuxM0zMsIcJLGTDd5zREzIrw5CwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RipUKBRwa1o/WV67Ago0VqI/AAAAAAAAKz8/uzImHORuxM0zMsIcJLGTDd5zREzIrw5CwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_1180.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">Jamie crossing the creek two weeks before race day.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’ll be exciting!” I declare to two women running in front of me as we make haste on the technical downhill of Volcano Canyon.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“There’s some positive spin,” one of them laughs.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One thing we all agree on, there will probably be a bottleneck as runners cross carefully with the aid of a rope stretched across the water.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As it turns out, the race directors added a rope, giving runners two places to cross. They even replaced the usual, flimsy rope that hung there with something sturdier -- a much-needed improvement for race day. With the creek actually running slightly lower than I's last seen it, the crossing turns out to be quick and painless, the current coming only up to about mid-thigh on me.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There are a couple miles of dirt roads after you climb out of Volcano and head into the first aid station at Michigan Bluff. We run in various small groups, enjoying the company of other runners as the sun rises on the still chilly morning. I run much of this part with Jen Hemmen and Whit Rambach.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“The best way to run this course is to negative split,” I tell Jen with authority. Because, you know. I’m an expert. </span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's a sentiment I repeat to at least two other runners during the day. And while it’s not an incorrect strategy, it is perhaps harder to do than I recognize. Especially if one’s training happened to consist of running just twice a week.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I do my best to execute the negative split, staying relaxed on the descent down to El Dorado Creek. The shade of evergreens and oaks keep things comfortable, and the four-mile climb up to the aid station at The Pump goes by quickly. The amount of trail work that has been done through this area is only apparent to those of us who have been out here all spring, and I am duly impressed. Winter wrought difficult conditions, with downed trees incessant and entire sections of trail washed away. The Western States trail crew, along with Chaz and his merry band of chainsaws, clearly fought the good fight in recent weeks, and I am grateful.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At The Pump, runners are greeted by the rainbows, unicorns, and energetic smiles of Reno’s Silver State Striders. The genuine love flowing out of this group exemplifies one of the best things about The Canyons Endurance Runs: community. In only its fourth year as an event, Canyons already feels like family. </span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OgfZJPlsX0M/WV67cfg08tI/AAAAAAAAK0A/BEY8x_24-Ugubf2ceEROqqTNUui9ExscQCLcBGAs/s1600/18157294_10155235134264089_2834786398564432094_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OgfZJPlsX0M/WV67cfg08tI/AAAAAAAAK0A/BEY8x_24-Ugubf2ceEROqqTNUui9ExscQCLcBGAs/s400/18157294_10155235134264089_2834786398564432094_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><i>Good feels at the Striders' aid station. (Photo: Jill Anderson)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is hard to leave the energy of the Striders aid station. I am buoyed by the knowledge that, after a short (though not quick) drop down to the Swinging Bridge, we will see them again on the round trip back to Foresthill.</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SuqJ5C_FuJ0/WV671pEmL_I/AAAAAAAAK0E/ePWan3qsssAw0sGSp_8V5ygsaYoxXNOUgCLcBGAs/s1600/18238701_10155235138069089_5497763852175509047_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1477" data-original-width="624" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SuqJ5C_FuJ0/WV671pEmL_I/AAAAAAAAK0E/ePWan3qsssAw0sGSp_8V5ygsaYoxXNOUgCLcBGAs/s400/18238701_10155235138069089_5497763852175509047_o.jpg" width="168" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">Happy at the Pump. (Photo: Jill Anderson)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Adding to the challenge of this steep and technical section is the fact that runners travel in both directions. Only 15 miles in, we are all still smiling, and it’s an opportunity to say a quick hello-and-good-job to a lot of friends. In spite of this, the constant dance to pass becomes tiresome after a while.</span><br /><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The day warms enough for me to shed my arm warmers, and I share a few miles on the return to Foresthill with my friend Miriam Smith. Eventually though, I realize that staying with Miriam means I am probably running too fast. I let her go ahead. Although I feel comfortable, my watch indicates that I will get to the halfway point at Foresthill with about seven hours on the clock. That is exactly the same pace I ran last year, and I’d followed it up with a six-hour second-half. Thus making me the negative split expert.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the past three years, as my motivation and enthusiasm for consistent running has waned, I have continuously revised my definition of what it means to go into a race undertrained. Now, as I arrive at Foresthill on pace with my 13-hour finish from last year. I quite honestly think to myself, “Maybe training is just a waste of time.”</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thirty years as a competitive runner, and sometimes I am still dumber than the most ignorant rookie.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The aid station at Foresthill has the familiar feel of race day at Western States. A cheering swarm of family and friends mingle with volunteers. Someone brings me my drop bag, while friend and Aid Station Director Sean Flanagan helps me get fueled up for the second half of the race. </span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The day has warmed considerably, and I fill my bra with ice before heading out in the opposite direction toward the Middle Fork American River. It will be 15 miles of somewhat rolling, but overall gradually downhill, terrain to the turnaround at Rucky Chucky. </span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The trail makes a long traverse across the sloping canyon, with views of the snowy Sierra above and the sparkling river below. When I tell people that if they only run here on race day at Western States, they are missing the trail in its best season, this is the scene that comes to mind. The 70 degree temps are mild, even if it doesn’t feel like it to this mountain girl. The slopes are lush and green, and wildflowers abound. California poppies, lupine, paintbrush, shooting stars. They attract butterflies who put on their own dancing display of color. Small waterfalls and creeks cross the trail as it winds in and out of pocket watersheds, and they are unusually swollen for this time of year. </span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-addMgcYtUn0/WV68gQr2k4I/AAAAAAAAK0M/mCsR3htV6dw6Z3rPQyyyafQgGBRRBaIMwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-addMgcYtUn0/WV68gQr2k4I/AAAAAAAAK0M/mCsR3htV6dw6Z3rPQyyyafQgGBRRBaIMwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_1128.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cOZYIXFZkZ0/WV68eVbd9jI/AAAAAAAAK0I/FdjKvxXi5L8kRy5RrKCPGizxoVYR5SnwgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cOZYIXFZkZ0/WV68eVbd9jI/AAAAAAAAK0I/FdjKvxXi5L8kRy5RrKCPGizxoVYR5SnwgCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_1156.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zyb2YGkBAcA/WV68g853q4I/AAAAAAAAK0Q/0MIWpEVrSjoFpARxQjT2BT-Pqcvu1K1dwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zyb2YGkBAcA/WV68g853q4I/AAAAAAAAK0Q/0MIWpEVrSjoFpARxQjT2BT-Pqcvu1K1dwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_1157.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can feel my right hip tightening in a way that is worrisome, and eventually my left ankle also gets cranky. I find myself questioning if six hours for this 50K is really a possibility. I splash off in the creeks to keep cool, and finally find my way to the Cal 2 aid station and the loving arms of the ladies of my own Donner Party Mountain Runners. Here is another infusion of love and energy, and at this point, I am sorely in need of it. The trail is exposed, the sun hot, and I know the seven miles to the turnaround are not going to pass quickly.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bob Shebest cruises past me in the opposite direction on his way to the men’s win. Sharing the trail with runners on their return trip is less tedious this time since there are no 50K runners, and we are more spread out. Apparently a fair number of 100K runners dropped at Foresthill, which would also account for the thinner traffic.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qhx5MoU-GGw/WV682_eM-ZI/AAAAAAAAK0U/mUDViwDd5OQHA3xB34QKq9bMtfYN6mdcwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qhx5MoU-GGw/WV682_eM-ZI/AAAAAAAAK0U/mUDViwDd5OQHA3xB34QKq9bMtfYN6mdcwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_1136.JPG" width="300" /></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I approach a beautiful creek crossing to be surprised by Kelly Barber popping up from full submersion in a deep pool.</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh my God, you are brilliant!” I tell him, as I take off my hat and sunglasses in preparation for the same treatment. He is clearly having a good race and throws words of encouragement over his shoulder at me as he tears off down the trail. The soaking is delicious, and I swear my body temperature drops by two full degrees while my spirit climbs in proportion.</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cat Bradley heads by looking incredibly casual and with what looks to be a sizeable lead in the women’s race. </span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I love your pigtails!” she calls to me. This makes me smile, and I thank her. I love it when the top athletes have the spirit to cheer and support the other runners.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As the miles slowly tick by, the trail maintains its beauty, and fellow runners trade greetings, I recognize the state that is setting in: survival and acceptance. The return to Foresthill isn’t going to be especially pretty. There will be more walking than I’d like and increased pain in my hip and ankle. But it will get done. I’ll get there. And it’s that confidence that allows me to appreciate the struggle of the remaining miles, if not quite enjoy them.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Somewhere in the last five miles, I’m climbing another endless hill that god-dammit-I-should-be-able-to-run-but-can’t, when I see my friend Michelle Edmonson heading toward me.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yeah, Michelle!” I give her a cheer. “How are you?” </span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, man.” She shakes her head, and I can see she’s deep in the thick of this thing. “I’m fighting, Gretchen.” Her voice shakes slightly through her smile.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I want to stop. Give her a hug. Tell her she’s got this, she’s badass. Tell her I totally get it. </span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Neither of us has time for that shit.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“That’s what it takes,” is all I’ve got for her. “Keep fighting!”</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I hike on, engaged in my own fight toward the finish. </span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YQ61Rcqtymc/WV69N6j22KI/AAAAAAAAK0Y/XphKydFhXB4sgNJ_6Vm3oslGHoIQkKrXgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1062" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YQ61Rcqtymc/WV69N6j22KI/AAAAAAAAK0Y/XphKydFhXB4sgNJ_6Vm3oslGHoIQkKrXgCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_1906.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I manage to get there before truly needing to turn on my headlamp, and I take a morsel of pride in this. There’s a reasonable crowd cheering for me, and five seconds after I cross the line, I am sitting in a chair while Sean once again fetches my bag for me. Thank God because I am certain I could not have walked the 20 yards to get it myself. </span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even in darkness, the finish line at Canyons is essentially a ten hour party. Friends, family, and exhausted runners sit in scattered chairs sharing stories. Chaz grills tri tip and wild duck next to the beer keg and a buffet of hot soups. Music from the speakers is punctuated by the periodic sounds of cowbells and cheering, signaling the approach of another runner. </span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well after midnight, the same crowd of friends who had been manning The Pump aid station are gathered around the finish area bringing the same effusive energy to cheer every late night runner across the line. They wait for their friend and Striders teammate Michelle, who is still fighting it out on the course.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She is the final runner across the line, and the Striders have champagne, sleeping bag, and flip flops all ready for her.</span></div><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s a great feeling,” said Chaz, “to have so many people out for that late-night support, cheering on every finish.” This includes the 14 finishers who won’t make the 18-hour cut off to get a States qualifier.</span></div><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s exactly that feeling that I love about this race. It doesn’t matter that I had a fairly ho-hum performance. It feels good to have tired, aching legs and be surrounded by friends. Providing an opportunity for you to push yourself while also giving you incredible support is what makes The Canyons Endurance Runs truly magical.</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot;arial&quot;; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-76308960492222690532016-02-29T19:33:00.002-08:002016-02-29T19:33:39.414-08:00Why we all Love the Way Too Cool 50K<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oUXjixnGPpg/T2lPDgmj49I/AAAAAAAADJc/HUd7vgtbcYc/s1600/DSCF1474%2B%2528800x600%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oUXjixnGPpg/T2lPDgmj49I/AAAAAAAADJc/HUd7vgtbcYc/s400/DSCF1474%2B%2528800x600%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Frog cupcakes! Who doesn't love frog cupcakes!?</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I know some of you deny it – you call it the “Way Too Crowded” and turn up your noses. You say, “I just can’t deal with the conga line,” but you still show up to spectate. You train on the course with your buddies, who are all registered to race, and discuss the prospects of Max or Varner or this-years-new-thang. You pretend otherwise, but just like the rest of us, you totally love the Way Too Cool.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UMppcns6U_E/UUZqFiymCAI/AAAAAAAAEB8/VGqh36n3BUY/s1600/DSCN0504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UMppcns6U_E/UUZqFiymCAI/AAAAAAAAEB8/VGqh36n3BUY/s400/DSCN0504.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Jenelle, Jamie, and Sarah keep warm before the start of the 2013 Way Too Cool.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Cool is many things to many different people. For some, it serves as <b>an early season benchmark.</b> Where do I stand after a winter of semi-slothdom? For others, its friendly terrain makes for perfect <b>first-time ultra racing.</b> Because I run Cool year after year, it works well as a <b>measurement of my own progress as a runner over the years</b>. For those of us from the Tahoe and Reno areas, heading down the hill the first week of March is also <b>a springtime ritual </b>that beckons us with warm sunshine to break from the winter chill. Because it seems that the entire NorCal ultra community turns out for this race, it is also the pinnacle of <b>socializing </b>this time of year, second only to summertime's Western States.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What were some of my best Cool experiences? Back in 2011, <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2011/03/way-too-cool-50k-2011.html" target="_blank">going sub-5:00 </a>was a big deal, and I was pretty stoked to get there. Let’s not forget the <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2012/03/way-too-cool-50k-2012.html" target="_blank">shit-storm outhouse-search of 2012</a>. Most hilarious race report ever, I’m pretty sure. There were the quivering quads of 2014 which resulted in both my course PR (4:44) and the most painful post-race leg cramping I’ve ever experienced. That’s what happens when you run hard while under-trained, friends! Last year was the <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2015/03/way-too-cool-50k-2015.html" target="_blank">I’ve-barely-trained-so-I’m-running-without-a-watch-and-pretending-I-don’t-care year.</a> It was a pretty good strategy that garnered me a 4:50 without too much trouble.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This will be my sixth year running this iconic trail test. With that in mind, I have some highlights and tips for those of you who will be toeing the line with me on Saturday. Here are some things to enjoy and things to watch out for:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><ul><li><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Newbies: Don’t go out too fast! </b><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">That first paved mile gets sub-looney really easily. Take the 8-mile loop to get your legs and warm up.</span></li></ul><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Veterans: Go out fast!</b> No kidding. It’s easy to get caught behind the mob. When I ran a 12 minute PR to go 4:44, I shaved 8 of those minutes off in that first 8-mile loop. Apparently I’d been taking it too conservatively.</span></li></ul><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /><ul><li><b>Use caution on that downhill </b>between the first aid station and the Quarry Road aid. It’s a good place to use your refined downhill technique, but it’s also a good place to blow out your quads if you hammer it too hard. I always feel like people hammer this part, and I clean them up later after mile 20.</li></ul></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /><ul><li><b>Drink-up at Maine Bar.</b> They say it’s only 4.3 miles from there to the ALT aid station, but I swear to God it’s more like 8. I can never make that distance on one bottle without running dry and cramping as a result. That stretch is the sole reason I carry two water bottles at Cool. It takes FOREVER to get to ALT.</li></ul></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /><ul><li><b>After ALT though, it’s all gravy.</b> You can spend this long, smooth, slightly downhill stretch of trail passing people like mad because you paced yourself well. <i>Right?</i></li></ul></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /><ul><li><b>Always run that last 1.4.</b> It’s uphill, yes. You hurt, I know. Suck it up. The finishline will get there so much faster if you run it. It’s only 1.4 miles! Don’t stop at the aid station – just go. At the end, friends await.</li></ul></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Get a good night's sleep, a good parking place, and I’ll see you all bright and early on Saturday!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ET-2T5W-erQ/T2lOO1O_8CI/AAAAAAAADJM/pHZk8DWuvLg/s1600/DSCF1470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ET-2T5W-erQ/T2lOO1O_8CI/AAAAAAAADJM/pHZk8DWuvLg/s400/DSCF1470.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Cupcakes and beer with Jenelle at a Way Too Cool finish celebration</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-33283170755421968112015-09-27T17:15:00.002-07:002015-09-27T19:53:48.540-07:00Running with the Wolves: The Superior 100<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Author's note: If you're curious how a California girl ended up at a race in northern Minnesota, you can read my love-affair-with-Minnesota preview-post <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2015/09/highway-61-revisited.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-tpWX7AgPxAw/Vgh2obhkgrI/AAAAAAAAKkM/65mAexmvrOs/s640/blogger-image--723191845.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-tpWX7AgPxAw/Vgh2obhkgrI/AAAAAAAAKkM/65mAexmvrOs/s640/blogger-image--723191845.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Checking out the views of Lake Superior (Photo courtesy of Superior 100)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The aptly named <a href="http://fall.superiortrailrace.com/race-info/100-mile/" target="_blank">Superior 100</a> (Yes, it’s on the <a href="http://www.shta.org/" target="_blank">Superior Hiking Trail</a>, and parallels Lake Superior, but it’s also just superior as far as most events go.) is a point-to-point course through the Sawtooth Mountains of Northern Minnesota. While the term “mountains” is perhaps a bit generous here, the race does manage to pack 21K feet of elevation gain and 21K feet of descent into its 103 miles. That, plus the highly technical nature of many of the trail sections, makes its tagline, “Rugged, Relentless, Remote”, more than accurate.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had been intrigued by this race since the late 90s when I guided teens on rock climbing trips on the Superior Hiking Trail. I was strictly a road runner at the time with only three marathons under my belt, and I couldn’t fathom how one could run on such technical terrain, much less do it for 100 miles. The mystery enticed me, and I knew I wanted to run it one day. I was an ultrarunner long before I was actually an ultrarunner.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In many ways, the race turned out to be exactly what I expected: beautiful and challenging. It also turned out to be so much more.</span><br /><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NCK0I3kKcxQ/Vgh_mzODjUI/AAAAAAAAKkk/KhjMsRTUx3s/s640/blogger-image--1135730151.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NCK0I3kKcxQ/Vgh_mzODjUI/AAAAAAAAKkk/KhjMsRTUx3s/s640/blogger-image--1135730151.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>A typical view from the course.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It reconnected me with a time in my life when I had been more open to new experiences, more capable of embracing the unknown. It gave me some much needed quality time with my sister, who graciously agreed to crew for me. It reminded me that I have so much more support from family, friends, and even perfect strangers than I often remember.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of the hardest parts of the race was squeezing it into a weekend during the second week of school. When I got permission in July to take two days off for the race, I thought, “Sweet! It’s on!” But I almost pulled the plug on it so many times between that day and race day. The travel would be extremely tight, the whole weekend would be expensive, I couldn’t afford to fly out anyone to pace me, and I carried major guilt about taking time away from my students during such an important time in the school year.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thursday morning I got up at 3:50 AM to catch the first leg of my flight. Four hours of sleep on the night before the night before race day. Dammit! I hadn’t been averaging much better than that all week because I was so busy with work and trying to take care of the dogs and house all by myself, but, hey, that’s life. I was only taking a carry-on because I was too worried about the airline losing my bag, and there simply wasn’t any room in my itinerary for delays. Who travels to a 100-miler with only a carry-on! A girl with no drop bags, that’s who.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I landed in Minneapolis at about 2:00 PM, got the rental car, met up with my sister Laura who also flew in that morning from L.A., and we drove straight to REI where it took me about 20 minutes to drop $200 on race supplies. (The race was serving Hammer products. I can stomach Hammer gels for a 50K or shorter, but definitely not for a 100, and I abhor Heed. I needed GU!) After that, it was straight Up North, and we arrived just in time for the 6:30 PM race briefing. <i>Whew!</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-iXWncMMoSbc/Vgg3OIdPLrI/AAAAAAAAKhA/zIDPI6TOcyk/s640/blogger-image--1405684257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-iXWncMMoSbc/Vgg3OIdPLrI/AAAAAAAAKhA/zIDPI6TOcyk/s640/blogger-image--1405684257.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>On the road to Two Harbors! (Photo: Laura Brugman)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Since I had Laura to crew, I didn’t need to take the morning shuttle from the finish line, and we stayed at a hotel near the start. This allowed me to sleep in to 6:00 on race morning, giving me a full 8 hours of sleep. It wasn’t enough to make up for the lack of sleep all week, but I was still incredibly grateful for it!</span><br /><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-sWb37OR-aJY/Vgg3QGX-SdI/AAAAAAAAKhI/xDq6LX4izF4/s640/blogger-image-2016216983.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-sWb37OR-aJY/Vgg3QGX-SdI/AAAAAAAAKhI/xDq6LX4izF4/s640/blogger-image-2016216983.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>With Laura at the starting line.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The first part of the course had to be rerouted due to a trail closure. We would run on the paved bike path for four miles before jumping on the Superior Hiking Trail for the remainder of the race. This was actually fine with me because it gave us all a chance to spread out a bit before hitting the single track. It also gave me a chance to chat with other runners, which was a great way to start the morning.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once we hit the single track, I felt warmed up and relaxed. I had opted to start with hand-held bottles for the first few aid stations. Even though many of the aid stations were 10 miles apart, I knew I would be moving decently in these early miles, and that the cooler temps meant I wouldn’t be drinking too much.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-dgczz0CKnHg/VghqjW-UB1I/AAAAAAAAKh4/5FAxZziAm0w/s640/blogger-image--970432583.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-dgczz0CKnHg/VghqjW-UB1I/AAAAAAAAKh4/5FAxZziAm0w/s640/blogger-image--970432583.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The trail was beautiful already, and I kind of enjoyed hopping along through the technical parts. Nearing the first aid station, I was running with another woman when a spectator told us we were the first and second women.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>What?! Oh crap. This is absolutely not where I should be!</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I consciously slowed down. If my training for this race had been what it should have, this wouldn’t have concerned me as much. But I had no reason to think I should be doing anything but surviving this thing. I certainly should not be thinking about the podium at mile 9!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-071r57I3Ofc/Vgh1pQdmk8I/AAAAAAAAKjk/b_5-ruNpoAA/s640/blogger-image--1853116123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-071r57I3Ofc/Vgh1pQdmk8I/AAAAAAAAKjk/b_5-ruNpoAA/s640/blogger-image--1853116123.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Early miles. (Photo: Zach Pierce)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The other thing the bike path re-route did was make the first part of the race pretty fast. There was no crew at the first aid station at mile 9, and I had told Laura to be at Beaver Bay (the second aid station at mile 20) at 11:30 AM. I knew there was absolutely no way I would run 20 miles in 3:30 during a 100 mile race. Even I couldn’t be that stupid! But I guess I hadn’t fully accounted for the speed of the bike path portion. (Or for my own stupidity.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">About three or four miles out from Beaver Bay, I could see that I might come in very close to 11:30 AM. I started stressing that Laura wouldn’t be there yet. <i>Dammit, why was I running so fast?</i> But I felt great. Totally relaxed. I didn’t feel fast at all.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I did a little more purposeful slowing down. It wasn’t that I couldn’t get through that aid station without crew. I knew I would be totally fine with just the aid station supplies. It was Laura I was worried about, and the possible cascade of events that could occur if she arrived there after I did. &nbsp;First, I would feel bad for giving her inaccurate info. Second, she probably wouldn’t realize she had missed me. She wouldn’t think to check with the aid station that early on to see if I’d come through already. Thus, it could be a LONG time before she figured it out, meaning she would likely miss me at the next stop, too, and maybe even the one after that. Third, if any of this happened, she would feel really bad about it, meaning, Fourth, I would feel really bad that she felt bad.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I explained this to my husband after the race, he just laughed and said, “You guys are hilarious.”</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-CW8L7Ig_Cnw/VghxyA3mdtI/AAAAAAAAKjA/6s4Igirg6sU/s640/blogger-image-458989847.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-CW8L7Ig_Cnw/VghxyA3mdtI/AAAAAAAAKjA/6s4Igirg6sU/s640/blogger-image-458989847.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When 11:30 came and went and I was still running toward Beaver Bay, I was immensely relieved.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Just before the aid station there was a little boy with his mom, and he was handing out those rubber band bracelets that kids make. He gave one to each runner as we came by, and you can bet I slowed down long enough to get one from him. Good luck charm for the rest of the race. What an awesome kid!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I arrived at 11:40 AM to Laura, completely prepared for me, saying, “Wow, you’re way ahead of schedule!”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yeah, apparently I suck at predicting my own splits.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But Laura totally does not suck at crewing, and she mixed my electrolyte drink and refilled my pockets with GU while I ate real food from the aid station. It was a quick stop, and I was off for a short five miles to the next aid station at Silver Bay.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Last year Laura had her first experience crewing at an ultra when she and Jamie came down to support me at <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2014/06/san-diego-100.html" target="_blank">the San Diego 100</a>. Before Jamie started pacing me, she crewed with Laura through the day and clearly helped turn her into an expert crew captain in a very short amount of time!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-80sBBt9ZTOg/VghqiEgVENI/AAAAAAAAKhw/ChwQ0NeT6wc/s640/blogger-image-750429549.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-80sBBt9ZTOg/VghqiEgVENI/AAAAAAAAKhw/ChwQ0NeT6wc/s640/blogger-image-750429549.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Laura is ready and waiting for me! (Photo: Laura Brugman)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At the pre-race briefing, I had seen one of the cooler things that I have ever seen available for purchase at a race. They had black rubber wristbands listing all the aid stations, total mileage at each one, and mileage to the next aid. This was so helpful for someone like me who was not familiar with the course, and totally worth the $5. I consulted my bracelet before coming in to each aid station so I would know the distance to the next aid. This allowed me to know just what I would need from the aid station – how much water, how much food I should bring with me, etc. I also consulted it upon leaving each aid station. There were some long stretches between aid, and it would be easy to feel like they were taking forever. I calculated my approximate arrival at the next aid so I would not fool myself into thinking I should be there any earlier than my pace would indicate. I loved this bracelet!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-4c-oOfb2ycw/Vghqk5qypfI/AAAAAAAAKiA/ekDWxf9-8Nw/s640/blogger-image--793858909.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-4c-oOfb2ycw/Vghqk5qypfI/AAAAAAAAKiA/ekDWxf9-8Nw/s640/blogger-image--793858909.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I think it was through this next section that I ran for several miles in between two men. We were all first-time Superior runners. The man in front of me was from Iowa, and we discussed the challenges of training for a race with so much climbing when you live somewhere with approximately zero hills. Fortunately, I did not have that problem in my training. It was awesome running and chatting with these guys, and I was sorry to separate from them when we reached the aid station.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-oy-YRA9nmis/Vgh_pteUycI/AAAAAAAAKk0/eCqiX2-Xn4s/s640/blogger-image-1965486307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-oy-YRA9nmis/Vgh_pteUycI/AAAAAAAAKk0/eCqiX2-Xn4s/s640/blogger-image-1965486307.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At Silver Bay (mile 25) I dropped my hand-helds and picked up my hydration pack. During the week before the race, I had spent some time reading race reports from past runners and looking at race photos. It was quite effective in scaring the piss out of me, but one thing I learned was that most people carry hydration packs in this race. This makes sense with a lot of 10 mile stretches between aid, plus the possibility of bad weather.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-lvPWA_GiLik/Vgh1voBs5XI/AAAAAAAAKkE/ACLkIq4VVJQ/s640/blogger-image--1715302494.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-lvPWA_GiLik/Vgh1voBs5XI/AAAAAAAAKkE/ACLkIq4VVJQ/s640/blogger-image--1715302494.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>(Photo: Zach Pierce)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I spent most of the day loving the scenery, remaining well ahead of predicted pace, and just feeling happy. With all the stress about travel and my, <i>ahem</i>, less-than-superior training, I was so happy to be simply running the race. There was absolutely nothing to do now but keep putting one foot in front of the other, and that single-minded simplicity is probably my favorite thing about trail running. I am responsible for nothing except forward motion.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-LEaBXMF-PVw/VghuCPUiLrI/AAAAAAAAKiM/c2aY8BpHKcM/s640/blogger-image-1094176529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-LEaBXMF-PVw/VghuCPUiLrI/AAAAAAAAKiM/c2aY8BpHKcM/s640/blogger-image-1094176529.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Looking down on Bear Lake</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I passed a runner with flaming red hair coming in the opposite direction, (She wasn’t a racer.) and she called out, “Gretchen?”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Yes!” How could anyone out here possibly know me? She reminded me that we had met at Sonoma, and gave a few words of encouragement before we parted ways. It wasn’t until after she was gone that I remembered our conversation after the race at Sonoma. I was so excited that she remembered me!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-M3WOtLV3bPQ/VghuDUujFKI/AAAAAAAAKiU/swE4fb5Um50/s640/blogger-image--807731159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-M3WOtLV3bPQ/VghuDUujFKI/AAAAAAAAKiU/swE4fb5Um50/s640/blogger-image--807731159.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Trail markers blowing in the wind.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At Tettegouche (mile 35) Laura informed me that I had a pacer! This is a case of the Minnesota network coming through. Also a case of “my husband really didn’t want me to run alone through the night.” Andrew had contacted a couple friends of his who lived in Duluth. My pacer would be Andrew’s friend Abby’s friend Shirley’s friend Mary. Woo hoo! In a flurry of last minute texts, I had only texted Mary that morning on the drive to the start. I had left her Laura’s #, and said, if she could make it, great, but if not, no worries. She would run with me from Finland (mile 51) to Cramer Rd. (mile 78). This had been my best prediction of what would be my “late night” stretch – where a pacer would be most valuable.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-F-R5dTGM7U8/VghuEvF337I/AAAAAAAAKic/7MJwHHY6Bgs/s640/blogger-image-480345650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-F-R5dTGM7U8/VghuEvF337I/AAAAAAAAKic/7MJwHHY6Bgs/s640/blogger-image-480345650.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Happy at Tettagouche! (Photo: Laura Brugman)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-inC7L21FWKc/Vghqg8gswnI/AAAAAAAAKho/b53cjcmseYo/s640/blogger-image--238133390.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-inC7L21FWKc/Vghqg8gswnI/AAAAAAAAKho/b53cjcmseYo/s640/blogger-image--238133390.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Changing socks. The only time I sat down at an aid station. (Photo: Laura Brugman)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had picked up my small headlamp at Silver Bay because I was paranoid. Also because the race director told us to. When he had said, “Only the faster runners can make it to County Rd. 6 before getting their lights,” I had not included myself in that category. I guess I should have, but ultimately there is nothing wrong with carrying your headlamp for a few extra miles. Or 25.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-rjsXupyl9tQ/VghxuB6VFaI/AAAAAAAAKio/2TyKVRo7V4g/s640/blogger-image--1227971816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-rjsXupyl9tQ/VghxuB6VFaI/AAAAAAAAKio/2TyKVRo7V4g/s640/blogger-image--1227971816.jpg" /></a></span></div><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-i_PAvU6BOik/VghxzRMYEUI/AAAAAAAAKjI/vebO6J5FHlg/s640/blogger-image-893150832.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-i_PAvU6BOik/VghxzRMYEUI/AAAAAAAAKjI/vebO6J5FHlg/s640/blogger-image-893150832.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A "plank bridge" across a swampy section.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">C</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">oming into County Rd. 6 (mile 43), I was ready for dinner. All I could think about was a ham sandwich. I wondered, could they possibly be serving a ham sandwich here? Wouldn’t that be wonderful? That was the first thing I asked for upon arrival.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“No, I’m sorry, no ham sandwiches.” They felt genuinely bad about not having ham sandwiches. But the offer of chicken noodle soup was met with excitement by me. Apparently I was in need of salt and protein. Yum!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I talked to a volunteer here who, I was told, had been asked by someone in Andrew’s Minnesota friend-network to pace me. Even though he hadn’t been able to pace me, it was great to have someone at the aid station looking for me and offering support.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was also at this aid station that Anthony’s wife came up and said hello. I had met Anthony randomly on a training run in July, and we had been stunned and delighted to learn we were both running Superior – two of only three runners from California in the race.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sometimes one of the mentally challenging things about traveling to a race outside of your own running community is that everyone there seems to know each other, but you don’t know anyone. When I’m at Tahoe Rim Trail, or Western States, I feel like I know everyone. Even at Hardrock, I always have a lot of friends. At Superior, it was just a nice surprise to have one or two people with even a remote connection say hello. Yay, Minnesota!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I arrived at Finland (mile 51) still in the daylight and still feeling great. I was two hours ahead of my fastest prediction, but I knew that I would be slowed by darkness and by some notoriously technical sections of trail that were coming up in the next 20 miles. Think steep, rocky descents; think tree roots a la <a href="http://www.hurt100trailrace.com/" target="_blank">Hurt 100</a>; think mud.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eu6ksm3bp78/Vgh_oIFtZeI/AAAAAAAAKks/PxrtXkCEtNw/s640/blogger-image-70045959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eu6ksm3bp78/Vgh_oIFtZeI/AAAAAAAAKks/PxrtXkCEtNw/s640/blogger-image-70045959.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A typical stretch of technical trail. Going up these was not nearly as bad as trying to get down them.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">&nbsp;</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I still wanted dinner, and I was thrilled to be offered beef stew at this aid station. While I was inhaling my stew, another volunteer offered me a hot dog.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Sure!” Why not, right? It was delicious!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My stomach, obviously, was doing very well. I also partook all day long in what I had taken to calling “dirty candy.” On a brutal but beautiful 48 mile training run through Yosemite and Hoover Wilderness in August, Jamie and I were hitting “zombie mode” with 8 or 9 miles still to go when Jamie had abruptly stopped to inform me that someone had dropped their candy in the trail. We hadn’t seen a soul for at least ten hours, but the Mike &amp; Ikes scattered in the dirt were temptation incarnate. A little dirt never hurt anything! We picked them up and brushed them off, and they were SO AMAZINGLY DELICIOUS! Mike &amp; Ikes will now forever be “dirty candy” to me.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A guy with a mustache and goatee and wearing a Superior sweatshirt (indicating he had finished the race before) told me how great I was doing.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You’re on 25-hour pace!” he enthused.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Ha!” I rolled my eyes. “That will change, trust me.” I told him I was keeping my fingers crossed for 28 hours at this point. Still, that was two hours faster than my original prediction.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-nfud5XFn5Dw/VghxvCizreI/AAAAAAAAKiw/FhO2Vq5VMqU/s640/blogger-image--1707756230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-nfud5XFn5Dw/VghxvCizreI/AAAAAAAAKiw/FhO2Vq5VMqU/s640/blogger-image--1707756230.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Heading out from Finland with Mary. (Photo: Laura Brugman)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This was also where I picked up Mary, my pacer. She hadn’t done any 100-milers herself, so she asked me what I needed. &nbsp;I was comfortable with my abilities on both pace and nutrition. Truthfully, all I needed was distraction and entertainment, which is exactly what I told her. This was perfect, because it turned out Mary was a talker. Hooray!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know I could have finished this race without a pacer, and part of me was curious to try it. I don’t know if I would have been any slower without a pacer, but it definitely would have been a bigger mental challenge. As we trotted along, Mary and I exchanged life stories, and I basically did not have to think at all. I think this was a best-case scenario for me as far as what kind of pacer I could have ended up with. <i>Thanks, Mary!</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The night, in so many ways, is just a blur. I slowed down as predicted, but not much more than everyone else. Upon leaving one aid station - it might have been Sugarloaf – Mary had paused to fix something with her shoe, so I was running alone. I heard this odd noise in the distance which I thought must be a wolf howling. Was I making that up? In my three summers and one winter living in Northern Minnesota, I had never once heard wolves howling. I kept hearing the noise. Perhaps it’s just a really strange owl? Truthfully, I wanted it to be a wolf. I found myself wondering, <i>if I didn’t have a pacer, would I be scared to be out here with the wolves?&nbsp;</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When Mary caught up, she confirmed. Yes, it was a wolf. Amazing! Soon we heard more. Wolves talking to each other in the moonless, Minnesota night. The temperature had dropped into the low 30s, and I occasionally turned off my headlamp to admire the insanely bright stars packed into the vast, dark sky. This moment right here – this is why you want to travel somewhere new to run a 100 mile race. They kept up their haunting song for another half hour, and I couldn’t imagine any better soundtrack for running through the woods at night than the howling of those wolves.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had sent Laura off to get some sleep while Mary ran with me. I really wanted one of us to be operating with some sleep on Saturday! Laura met me at Cramer Rd., where Mary would stop. When I had last seen Laura at Finland, I had told her 5:30 AM at Cramer, but she said, “No, I think 3:30!” So my 3:50 arrival made her, again, more accurate than I.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I wasn’t too worried about running for another two and a half hours alone before the sun would come up. I still felt pretty darn good. I bid Mary farewell, and set off into what would turn out to be the hardest section of the race for me.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was 78 miles in, it was after 4:00 AM, and I was totally and completely falling asleep on my feet. I mean it was bad. SO. BAD. My eyes wouldn’t focus, and I kept veering off the trail. I had sipped half of a 5-Hour Energy at Cramer, and now I took the other half. Not only did it not help, but it made me feel a little loopy. Usually I know better than to drink more than half of one of those things, but I was desperate. Three separate times I had to stop and sit down to close my eyes and put my head down. I think I only stopped for a minute each time (who knows!), but even when I was moving, it was pathetic. I totally suck with sleep deprivation, and now my week of very little sleep was catching up with me.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At some point, a woman passed me, moving me from second to third female. I just couldn’t summon the energy to care, and I had known it was inevitable anyway. The only thing I cared about at that moment was sleep, and I knew the only way to get any was to get to the finish line. Just keep going, just get there. I imagined crossing the line and promptly laying down in the grass to sleep for 10 hours.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Temperance (mile 85) was the first aid station where I came in behind Laura’s prediction. A full hour and 20 minutes behind. Twenty-eight minute miles will do that, I guess.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-q-9xP1FzASY/Vgh1q-arP5I/AAAAAAAAKjs/Wm4dwWT6gMg/s640/blogger-image-1144465578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-q-9xP1FzASY/Vgh1q-arP5I/AAAAAAAAKjs/Wm4dwWT6gMg/s640/blogger-image-1144465578.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Sleepy-eyed, with sister. (Photo: Laura Brugman)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have experienced the “horrible sleepies” once before in a hundred – <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2010/07/tahoe-rim-trail-100-2010.html" target="_blank">at the TRT 100 in 2010</a>. During that race I had sat down at every aid station during the night and fallen asleep for a few minutes. I had enough experience now to know that kind of thing wouldn’t help, and unless I was truly falling off the trail, I just needed to keep going. The aid station workers, God bless them, told me how great I looked. Hilarious, but that’s also exactly what a runner needs to hear.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I still felt horribly sleepy running along the Temperance River, even though the sun had come up. I was still operating on Pacific Time, and 6:00 AM felt like 4:00 AM. I distracted myself with taking pictures of the river, even though there wasn’t enough light. After a few more miles, I <i>finally </i>woke up. Hallelujah! The climb up Carlton Peak was almost enjoyable because I felt so much better!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was also through these last 20 miles that I began playing leapfrog with another runner. He would pass me, I would come through the next aid station not realizing he was there sitting down somewhere, I would leave the aid station, and then a mile out, he would pass me again. With each of these passes we exchanged very brief words of encouragement. I think he was the only other runner I saw between mile 85 and the finish.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qQnoVZWw0MI/Vghx0mr_SnI/AAAAAAAAKjQ/ohBueRQ7sIM/s640/blogger-image-1076795214.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qQnoVZWw0MI/Vghx0mr_SnI/AAAAAAAAKjQ/ohBueRQ7sIM/s640/blogger-image-1076795214.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I think this was Sawbill AS, at mile 90. I don't know; it's all a blur. (Photo: Laura Brugman)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Laura said I seemed super focused and fired up at the last aid station at mile 96. This is probably because I knew I was just that much closer to getting to sleep! I picked up the pace to 17 minute miles, which actually isn’t that bad considering there are a few solid climbs on this seven mile stretch. It was certainly a huge improvement over my nighttime slow down.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ltqA8sr3KLs/Vgh_lg90OMI/AAAAAAAAKkc/dFvc8YR5_rM/s640/blogger-image-446795272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ltqA8sr3KLs/Vgh_lg90OMI/AAAAAAAAKkc/dFvc8YR5_rM/s640/blogger-image-446795272.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">When I suddenly realized that the course markings had led me to a spur trail of the SHT, I knew I must be getting close to the finish. OhDearLordThankGod! Looking at my watch, I realized I might actually make it in under 28 hours. I was stoked! We had to run through the Lutsen ski resort, and I had no idea exactly how much farther the finish line might be. I felt like I was flying – probably 15 minute miles.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I crossed the line, the guy I had been leapfrogging with was right there, and even though I had never gotten his name, I ran straight over to give him a big sweaty hug. &nbsp;We did it!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Nvj7GIdtg7M/Vgh1oOlFJVI/AAAAAAAAKjc/cBUdHRGrjoI/s640/blogger-image--68105242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Nvj7GIdtg7M/Vgh1oOlFJVI/AAAAAAAAKjc/cBUdHRGrjoI/s640/blogger-image--68105242.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Finished! (Photo: Laura Brugman)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The finish is at Caribou Highlands Lodge, and one of the great things about this is that there were real showers there for us to use. The other great thing is that we could buy beer.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Laura and I sat at a table with the second place woman and her crew and basked in the glory of being done and having such amazing weather. Lows in the 30s at night, highs in the low 60s during the day, and a sparkling blue sky.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You mean it’s not like this every day?” I joked. Apparently earlier that week it had been 90F and humid. Ugh!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I got my finishers sweatshirt, and Laura got me chili and a beer. Heaven.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And there was the goatee guy from Finland again, who I think I had also seen at some aid station in the middle of the night. Maybe that had been a hallucination though? His real name was John.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I saw this girl eat a hot dog at Finland!” he declared to the crowd. They were duly impressed. Only at a 100-miler is the act of eating a hot dog a reason to brag.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-HQ1vjXifapE/Vgh1sfkrq0I/AAAAAAAAKj0/4UG3t0SGNzg/s640/blogger-image-1670969236.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-HQ1vjXifapE/Vgh1sfkrq0I/AAAAAAAAKj0/4UG3t0SGNzg/s640/blogger-image-1670969236.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Laura took this photo of my trophy before I had even finished!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We needed to start heading south again, but before we left, I knew I had an award to pick up. I’ll be honest; I’m not much for trophies or finisher swag that’s not useful. I have been known to throw trophies in the trash. I didn’t even buy the finisher’s buckle at Hardrock, because you know what? I have plenty of buckles, and it’s just stuff. But when we were at the pre-race briefing for Superior, I saw the trophies, and I loved them. It did not escape my notice that Masters Champions would get one. I may have finished 3rd female overall, but I was the first of the old gals. (Also, 23rd overall, out of 248 starters.) The beautiful howling wolf was cut from a flat piece of steel and welded onto a metal base. This is my favorite trophy ever!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I interrupted RD John Storkamp just long enough to thank him for an incredible event before jumping in the car and heading back south for the trip home. Superior is one of the country’s oldest 100-milers, and they have clearly learned how to put on a top notch event. (And incidentally, if you missed Alex Kurt’s July article in Trail Runner about RD John Storkamp, you can <a href="http://trailrunnermag.com/component/content/article/1853-rock-steady-minnesotas-john-storkamp" target="_blank">read it online here.</a> It’s a great read that you shouldn’t miss.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_bD0OHXPO4w/Vgh1t4PWeoI/AAAAAAAAKj8/e8ZBLhrx4lA/s640/blogger-image--2142763933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_bD0OHXPO4w/Vgh1t4PWeoI/AAAAAAAAKj8/e8ZBLhrx4lA/s640/blogger-image--2142763933.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I first signed up for this race, I’ll admit, I really wanted to go out there and nail it. By the time August rolled around though, I knew I would be lucky even to finish. I realize I have a reputation of being The World’s Biggest Sandbagger, and it is not wholly undeserved. But my training was truly so poor that, in the end, I felt audacious even for attempting Superior.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Maybe muscle memory deserves more credit that I gave it because I honestly couldn’t be more thrilled with how my race turned out. The climbing, in truth, wasn’t that bad in my opinion. The only real climb I even remember was Carlton Peak. It was the 21K feet of descent, much of it technical, which was so hard. That part was brutal.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The mud, I am told, could have been much worse. And of course, the 4 miles of pavement at the beginning definitely contributed to faster times this year. Still, I was not expecting to be much faster than 30 hours.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In discussing my surprise at my performance with Jamie the week after the race, we had the following exchange:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Me: I really don’t know how I could have run so fast with such crappy training!</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Jamie: Did you read that article about Rory a few months back?</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Me: You mean the one in Outside where she basically said, “I don’t train”?&nbsp;</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Jamie: Yeah. I have to think that there’s something to that. Doing other things can count as training, and we don’t even realize it.</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Me: So, sitting on the beach for a week during what should have been my most important training block, running only 12 miles, and drinking wine every day probably helped?</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As happy as I am with this experience at Superior, I would still really like to come back and nail it. I think this is a course that suits me fairly well. Obviously I have some advantage living at 6,000 feet. I think if I managed something closer to my standard 100-miler training and worked on my descending, I could probably run something in the 25-hour range. And remember, you’re hearing this from The World’s Biggest Sandbagger.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Unfortunately, I don’t know if I will get back to Superior any time soon. It is just a tough time of year for a teacher who lives so far away. &nbsp;For the time being, I can accept that.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I really couldn’t ask for anything more than the opportunity to be there this year, to spend time with my sister, and to run through the starry night with the wild wolves.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-63202369528478204192015-09-07T22:48:00.000-07:002015-09-07T23:42:00.218-07:00Highway 61 Revisited<div class="MsoNormal"><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K2dvuTrk3Aw/Ve5wZnfvwPI/AAAAAAAAKgc/qsaZFUqqlYg/s1600/001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K2dvuTrk3Aw/Ve5wZnfvwPI/AAAAAAAAKgc/qsaZFUqqlYg/s320/001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">At the Java Moose, in Grand Marais, MN, circa 1999</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>"How does it feel? To be on your own, with no direction home, a complete unknown, like a rolling stone?"</i>&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- Bob Dylan, </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Like a Rolling Stone" </i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(From <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Highway_61_Revisited" target="_blank">Highway 61 Revisited</a></i>)</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the fall of 1996, after I’d finished <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2010/10/epic-adventures-part-ii-pacific-crest.html" target="_blank">hiking the PCT</a>, I moved to St. Paul, MN, taking up residence outside of southern California for the first time in my life. I was 22 years old.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The beauty of being 22 is that you have enough life experience to give you some confidence and determination without saddling you with the fear and hesitation that age can sometimes bring.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was an Orange County girl who was a little afraid she would never get out.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Even by the mildest of standards, Minnesota would not be considered by most to be a hotbed of big adventure. (Most people just don’t know!) I’d had a roommate my freshman year of college who was from St. Paul, and she was living there and in the market for a roommate again. Lacking any other plan for my life, it was an easy sell, and I was off to Minnesota, just like that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Though my roommate was a dear friend, our lives somehow did not intertwine much that year. Here’s what I did my first year ever of living in a city:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(1) Quickly got a job at a gear store called <a href="http://www.midwestmtn.com/" target="_blank">MidwestMountaineering</a>. I’m not sure the Minnesota natives who worked there fully understood the irony of that name. Their store t-shirt depicted someone portaging a canoe. (On the other hand, I guess that did show that they knew what "mountaineering" in the Midwest really meant.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(2) Learned to navigate the bus system. Don’t laugh. Before the internet era of easily accessible maps and timetables, this was not easy. Especially for a girl who’d always had a car.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(3) Adjusted my “It’s too cold to go for a run” standard to anything colder than -20F.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(4) Attended “employee only” parties with TNF athletes like Conrad Anker and Lynn Hill. OMFG!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(5) Got another job as an assistant teacher at an elementary school.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(6) Got another job as a middle school track coach. (See any patterns emerging here?)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Incidentally, it was tough making it to all my jobs on time with an unreliable bus system. That summer was when I bought my little red pick-up truck. Such a symbol of adulthood and independence!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Flash back to a couple years earlier when I was in college and just discovering the world of outdoor sports, falling in love with being a rock climber. Here are a few things that happened at that time: </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"></div><ol><li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I read a book called </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Annapurna-Womans-Place-Anniversary-Edition/dp/1578050227" target="_blank">Annapurna: A Woman’s Place</a></i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> by a woman named <a href="http://www.arleneblum.com/" target="_blank">Arlene Blum</a>. In addition to being an accomplished climber and guide, Arlene Blum was the director of an organization called <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Woodswomen,_Inc." target="_blank">Woodswomen</a>. They led all-women adventure trips in the outdoors. They were located in Minneapolis, MN.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I read another book called </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Leading-Out-Women-Climbers-Reaching/dp/1878067206" target="_blank">Leading Out: Women Climbers, Reaching for the Top.</a></i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> I adored this book! Its dog-eared pages and underlined passages still grace my overcrowded bookshelf. It was a collection of essays by a variety of women climbers, many of whom, as it happened, were from Minnesota, some of them former guides for Woodswomen. <i>(Why were so many amazing women from Minnesota??)</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I distinctly recall sitting in my dorm room reading an article in a magazine profiling three different women and their unusual careers. One of these women was <a href="http://www.bethwaldphotography.com/about.html" target="_blank">Beth Wald</a>, a climber and professional photographer. She traveled all over the world taking pictures of incredible climbing feats and other outdoor sports. I was a sports photographer for my college paper at the time and an aspiring climber. This woman, I knew, had my absolute dream job. I cut out the article and saved it.</span></li></ol><!--[if !supportLists]--><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Back in Minnesota, and the track season was over. School was out for summer. With <a href="http://www.midwestmtn.com/" target="_blank">Midwest Mountaineering </a>as my only remaining source of income, I applied for, and got, a job at, … where else? <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Woodswomen,_Inc." target="_blank">Woodswomen</a>. I was a summer intern.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now I was guiding women in adventures all over the state, doing sports I’d never tried before. I learned to paddle a canoe. I taught women and kids how to rock climb. I drove the support van on a week-long horseback riding trip. (There was no way they were getting me on a horse!) I was giddy with the brilliance of it all. "<i>Look what I’m doing!"&nbsp;</i>was a daily exclamation I made to myself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One evening, I was having a beer with a couple friends I worked with at Midwest Mountaineering. One friend was trying to give some moral support to a friend of his, Beth, whom he’d invited along. She was apparently in crisis about what direction to take her life. We’d been chatting about this for nearly 40 minutes before I caught her last name.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Wait!” I said loudly, slapping my hand on the table, drawing everyone’s attention. My jaw had dropped. “<i>You’re <a href="http://www.bethwaldphotography.com/about.html" target="_blank">Beth Wald</a>?!</i>” I didn’t know what to say. Here I was faced with this real-life, every-day, normal person, who also just happened to be my personal role model.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of course, I told her the story of the magazine article. I don’t know if this helped her with her life crisis at all, but I like to think that it did.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That winter, I moved to northern Minnesota to take a job as <a href="http://www.wintermoonsummersun.com/" target="_blank">a dog handler for a musher</a>&nbsp;guiding dogsled trips for women.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lBr1X_Tt3pQ/Ve5u4dB3ADI/AAAAAAAAKgA/VlJfkM30gAU/s1600/dogsled%2Bkisses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lBr1X_Tt3pQ/Ve5u4dB3ADI/AAAAAAAAKgA/VlJfkM30gAU/s400/dogsled%2Bkisses.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Kisses from Wasimo, a badass lead dog on the dogsled team.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Running dogs is still one of my favorite things I have ever done.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That covers my first 18 months in Minnesota.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After that, I got a summer job <a href="http://www.ymcatwincities.org/camps/camp_menogyn/" target="_blank">guiding teenagers on climbing and canoeing trips up in the Boundary Waters</a>. I met my husband there, and we got married in the fall of 2000 on the banks of West Bearskin Lake in the Boundary Waters. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XrRmuvtriHI/Ve5vYrr3KzI/AAAAAAAAKgI/1t4lmEGpSek/s1600/menogyn%2Bnorwester.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XrRmuvtriHI/Ve5vYrr3KzI/AAAAAAAAKgI/1t4lmEGpSek/s400/menogyn%2Bnorwester.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Returning from guiding a 30-day canoe trip, and Andrew swam out to meet me.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The place holds incredibly potent and significant memories for me, but I haven’t been back to northern Minnesota in the 15 years since I got married there.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">~</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Last month was the 50<sup>th</sup> anniversary of Bob Dylan’s seminal album, <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Highway_61_Revisited" target="_blank">Highway 61 Revisited</a>.</i> Highway 61 runs down from Canada, through Duluth, MN, where Dylan was born, all the way to New Orleans, connecting him, Dylan felt, to the blues music and musicians he loved.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Highway 61, the main thoroughfare of the country blues, begins about where I began. I always felt like I'd started on it, always had been on it, and could go anywhere,” Dylan said of his choice for the album title. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My own kinship with Highway 61 goes north from Duluth along the shore of Lake Superior to Grand Marais, rather than south to New Orleans, but I’ve always felt similarly to Dylan in terms of the path it held in my life at one time. From dog sledding, to canoeing, to backpacking and rock climbing – Highway 61 led me to so many new adventures. Let’s not forget falling in love!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vosBPN0-Ems/Ve5v3RWZIZI/AAAAAAAAKgQ/w4GtJSfKx4A/s1600/002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vosBPN0-Ems/Ve5v3RWZIZI/AAAAAAAAKgQ/w4GtJSfKx4A/s400/002.jpg" width="315" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Wedding in the Boundary Waters, October 2000.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This week, I’m finally headed back to Highway 61 for another adventure. I’ll be attempting to go 100 miles on the <a href="http://www.shta.org/" target="_blank">Superior Hiking Trail</a> in the <a href="http://fall.superiortrailrace.com/race-info/100-mile/" target="_blank">Superior 100</a> which begins on Friday. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ll be trying to tap into that 22-year-old version of myself. That girl who had never been in temps below 30F but decided -20F was acceptable running weather. That girl who thought driving a team of huskies across a frozen lake was a perfect activity for someone born and raised in Orange County. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You see, lately I’m feeling a bit of that “on my own” spirit I had in my 20s, and finding a little of the “on my own” strength that being 22 provided.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It’s been one year since my mother passed away, and it is not an understatement to say I still feel devastated by this loss every day.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For complicated reasons, my husband took a job out of state (ironically, in Minnesota, though he will have to work while I am out there for my race). I miss him desperately.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I started a new job last week, and I go back and forth between being incredibly excited and incredibly overwhelmed.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So many new things.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And this race? I am definitely afraid.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of course, it’s not my first 100-miler, but let’s face it – muscle memory can only get you so far. I am under-trained, and I’m going without a pacer. "On my own," as it were. A rolling stone.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This thought both thrills and scares me. And that, I think, is a good thing. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And yes, here is where I’m going to put that famous Eleanor Roosevelt q</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">uote. Sorry if you’ve heard it too many times to count. It still speaks to me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>“You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It’s not that this thing is really going to be a horror. The death of a loved one puts that kind of thing into stark perspective. It is, after all, just a race. Just a run.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But, still.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My running club, the <a href="http://www.donnerpartymountainrunners.com/" target="_blank">Donner Party Mountain Runners</a>, has the tagline “Unafraid.” It is taken directly from words about the real <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donner_Party" target="_blank">DonnerParty</a>. In talking about it with a fellow club member the other day though, we both admitted that we are plenty afraid. The important thing isn’t really to be fearless, it’s to go forward in spite of your fear. That is where real strength lies. That is how you grow.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I definitely knew that when I was 22. This seems like a good time to remind myself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">With that in mind, perhaps T Swift’s “22” is a better theme song here than Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone.” With apologies to Bob for the major shift in musical genre, that’s the direction I’m going.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>“Yeah, we’re happy, free, confused, and lonely in the best way! Yeah, it’s miserable and magical, oh yeah!”</i>– Taylor Swift, <i>“22”</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">See you soon, Minnesota!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/AgFeZr5ptV8?rel=0" width="640"></iframe> Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-29335209194417444032015-04-17T12:05:00.000-07:002015-04-17T12:05:34.427-07:00Lake Sonoma 50 - 2015 Edition<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3EErP7s05tI/VTBY8Gz5STI/AAAAAAAAKbE/-6HONLUUbV4/s1600/IMG_2257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3EErP7s05tI/VTBY8Gz5STI/AAAAAAAAKbE/-6HONLUUbV4/s1600/IMG_2257.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The finish line at Lake Sonoma 50: Truly a special place. (Photo by Jenelle Potvin)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In its 8th running this year, the <a href="http://www.lakesonoma50.com/index.html" target="_blank">Lake Sonoma 50</a> has already become a Nor Cal Spring Classic. Boasting excellent trails with beautiful views of the lake, a relentless course, and some of the fastest trail runners around, it’s a race I hope to come back to every year. This was my 3rd time running it, and it’s hard to believe, but it just keeps getting better.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Heading into race week, where I definitely tapered, I had pretty conservative goals. As mentioned in <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2015/03/way-too-cool-50k-2015.html" target="_blank">my Way Too Cool report</a>, I have not been a highly motivated runner this year. I had two great weeks of high volume training in March, but otherwise, it’s been pretty low grade. Thus, I had my sights set closer to last year’s Sonoma time of 9:19, rather than <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2012/04/lake-sonoma-50m-2012.html" target="_blank">the 8:59 I had pulled off in 2012</a>.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You always do that,” Jenelle accused me, two days before the race. “You say you’re not going to do well, and then you run great!”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I digested that for a second, thinking about how much faster I’d run at <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2014/06/san-diego-100.html" target="_blank">San Diego last year</a> than I had said I would.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I know.” I sighed. “I’m a total sandbagger. I don’t mean to be though; I just don’t want to be disappointed.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I decided to quit worrying about my race, and just have a good weekend. Jenelle was coming out to watch, and my husband Andrew was coming too, which is a very rare treat! I had reserved two nights at the hotel in Healdsburg, and our other friends Andrew and Yvette would come to the finish line and then hang out for the rest of the weekend. It really didn’t matter how well my race went – it was bound to be a fun weekend!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I rode to the start with Chaz, and we lined up together in the early morning light. We greeted many friends and enjoyed the pre-race nerves and excitement that we all felt. I was excited to see my friend Jenny Capel because I hadn’t realized she would be there.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZxyvZkAxgxY/VTBZuKlgLSI/AAAAAAAAKbM/yjjxI6S5wV0/s1600/IMG_2270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZxyvZkAxgxY/VTBZuKlgLSI/AAAAAAAAKbM/yjjxI6S5wV0/s1600/IMG_2270.JPG" height="320" width="287" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>On the starting line with Chaz. I swear it wasn't foggy out. This is just Chaz's idea of cool photo filters.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Starting off on the pavement, I soon found myself in a small friendly group of runners that included Erika Lindland, Scott Mills, and Kevin Skiles.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Whatever you do,” I warned everyone, “don’t get in front of Erika. You’ll regret it later!” There was general agreement on this point, as Erika always runs a killer pace late in her races. She accused me of mowing her down in the final miles of this race last year, but I finished only a couple minutes ahead of her.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XFCr76kHCg0/VTBbxRQ5u-I/AAAAAAAAKbY/zLzftAAg828/s1600/11155033_10153225431879725_4535202692991172618_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XFCr76kHCg0/VTBbxRQ5u-I/AAAAAAAAKbY/zLzftAAg828/s1600/11155033_10153225431879725_4535202692991172618_o.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The awesome Erika Lindland, with Kevin and me back there trying to keep up. (Photo by Chris Jones)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We hit the singletrack, and everything was lovely. Our group stayed more or less together all the way to the first full aid station at mile 11. We joked so much about not wanting to get in front of each other, lest we get our butts kicked later in the race, that when Erika dropped something and had to pull off to pick it up, letting us all pass her, Kevin and I had to give her grief about it.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Nice race strategy!” Kevin teased. Now I was suddenly leading the group. Noooo!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Eventually I found myself running up front with Scott. Looking back, Erika was nowhere to be seen.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“How is it that I broke my own rule about not getting in front of Erika?” I asked Scott. He laughed as we ran along together. The day was warming up beautifully, and I felt great. So far my splits had been pretty close to last year’s, as far as I could tell. I figured I was on pace for something in the 9:10-9:20 range.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After the Madrone Point aid station at mile 19, I was still running with Scott when we started one of the bigger climbs on the course. We had moved from singletrack onto a dirt road. The next ten miles back to this aid station are some of the most exposed on the course, but fortunately it wasn’t yet hot out, and there was a thin cloud cover.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dv7VETUBW88/VTBdv634LbI/AAAAAAAAKbk/BB9RrbMel8w/s1600/lake%2Bsonoma%2Bcourse.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dv7VETUBW88/VTBdv634LbI/AAAAAAAAKbk/BB9RrbMel8w/s1600/lake%2Bsonoma%2Bcourse.png" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The out-and-back course around Lake Sonoma</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When we saw the first men coming back toward us, Scott and I could only laugh.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“That’s just not right,” he said.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“They make it look so easy!” I agreed. We were running downhill, and they were running up at the same pace. Actually, they were probably faster.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We both noted that we saw the first men much sooner than we had last year, but were undecided about whether that meant they were running faster than last year or we were running slower. I chose to believe the former.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Eventually I left Scott behind and moved through the next miles feeling strong. I enjoyed cheering for friends like Meghan and Pam who were already on their return trip.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I hit the aid station at No Name Flat (mile 25) in 4:20, which I had a vague idea was somewhere between my split from last year and my split from 2012. (Turns out I was right – it was 3 minutes faster than last year, and 5 minutes slower than 2012.) I was pretty happy to be faster at this point than last year because I knew I was feeling much better. I recall thinking at this point last year that it was going to be a painful slog back to the finish. By contrast, this year I felt great, and my spirits were high.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Seeing so many friends on this section certainly contributed to my fun. Smiling faces and many cheers and greetings filled the miles and kept me cranking along.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The only mistake I made was topping off just one bottle at No Name instead of leaving with two full bottles. Rookie move. I hadn’t realized how much warmer it had gotten. As mentioned, this section of the course is exposed, and there are some solid climbs. The cloud cover had vanished. I ran out of water. Stupid me.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know this course fairly well by now though. When I came to a familiar singletrack climb, I knew it would soon pop out at the top onto a dirt road, and from there it was less than a mile of downhill to the aid station. Eric Schranz had long ago departed and taken his Golden Shower with him to follow the fast guys to the finish when I arrived at the dirt road right behind Craig Thornley and his green truck and followed him all the way in.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Although I was a little on the dehydrated side, I could tell it wasn’t bad. It’s a quick two miles until the next aid station, so I left Madrone with two full bottles and spent most of that time taking in fluids. By the time I reached Wulflow aid station at mile 33, I felt fully back on track with fluids and calories.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was running alone at this point, although I had glimpsed Erika at the turnaround. The hardest part of Lake Sonoma is the return trip, and for me it has always been a huge mental struggle. Both of my previous runs here had me feeling slow, unfocused, and depressed through the lonely miles from Madrone (mile 31) to Island View (mile 45.5). The scenery is incredible – glimpses of glittering turquoise water in the lake below, grassy hillsides dotted with wildflowers in pinks, purples, oranges, and even a few reds, big shady oak trees interspersed with redwood glens and cascading creeks. But the hills are relentless, and it can be hard to keep a good rhythm. Somehow, miraculously, this year I completely found my mojo on this stretch. I felt great!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qJC5DdsR6jo/VTBePjNIfwI/AAAAAAAAKbs/IeIChK4d0_4/s1600/IMG_2259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qJC5DdsR6jo/VTBePjNIfwI/AAAAAAAAKbs/IeIChK4d0_4/s1600/IMG_2259.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The beautiful trails of Lake Sonoma. (Photo by Jenelle Potvin)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Somewhere between mile 33 and 38 I caught up to Chaz, and we ran together for the rest of the race. I discovered that I was still totally capable of running hard on the downhills, which I think is part of what had me feeling so good. Typically I become a gingerfoot on the downhills when I get tired. Although my training mileage had been low, I had spent much of it in the canyons of the Western States trail, which will certainly help your downhill running ability.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was in my groove and focused on the trail when I glanced up to see where Chaz was just in time to avoid a hard collision between a tree and my forehead. <i>Phew! </i>A little while later though, there was another one, and this time I wasn’t so lucky. Fortunately, this tree was hanging just enough higher to do little more than scare me and steal the hat off my head. I love running in my <a href="http://www.bigtruckbrand.com/" target="_blank">Big Truck</a> trucker hat because the big brim provides good shade (or rain protection, as the case may be), but it definitely has its drawbacks. I guess I need to look up more.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As we headed in to the Island View aid station, Erika was right behind us, and I could see that we were on pace to finish in under 9 hours. I couldn’t believe it! I still felt strong, although I knew that wouldn’t last a whole lot longer. I rushed through the aid station and yelled to Chaz to hurry.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“We’ve got this!” I encouraged. With 8:04 on the clock, we had 55 minutes to finish in 8:59. Exactly 12 minute pace. I knew we’d been averaging close to 11 minute pace for the last 14 miles, but I also knew these last 4.5 had a lot of climbing.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can’t remember the last time I felt that pumped up leaving an aid station. I was on the verge of a PR, but I knew I was really going to have to work for it. I had Chaz there to run with, and I knew he was gunning for it too. Erika was right behind us, and I was sure all three of us could work together to get that sub-9. Maybe even faster.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This mindset lasted for about a half mile.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Holy crap there are a lot of hills in the final miles of that race! I remembered running this section with Chris last year, and I tried to push my pace like I had then. I was breathing so hard on the climbs that I was kind of scaring myself. I worked and pushed and scraped every last ounce of strength I had, and around every corner was another goddamn climb.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-69eugUXyDIQ/VTBoAaagLBI/AAAAAAAAKdg/Y7TGXqPcSV4/s1600/LS%2Belevation.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-69eugUXyDIQ/VTBoAaagLBI/AAAAAAAAKdg/Y7TGXqPcSV4/s1600/LS%2Belevation.png" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm not sure this elevation profile does it justice.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">&nbsp;</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">“Beer!” Chaz yelled back to me in encouragement. </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Hell yeah;&nbsp;</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">that first Racer 5 was going to be heavenly. But there was work to be done before that. Painful work.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I watched the minutes slowly tick by on my watch. Chaz eventually pulled away as I faded, and I crossed my fingers for him.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Erika came up behind me for the last time right as we hit the “one mile to go” sign. I looked at my watch. 8:50.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Crap!” Erika and I almost said it in unison. I let her go by and completely accepted my fate. There would be no PR today. And honestly, that was okay. I’d had a better day than I could have possibly hoped for, and now all I wanted was to be done running. That last mile took forever.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7yAcoJasNw4/VTBfjQ1c-0I/AAAAAAAAKcE/z8yGq-RXVxc/s1600/IMG_2266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7yAcoJasNw4/VTBfjQ1c-0I/AAAAAAAAKcE/z8yGq-RXVxc/s1600/IMG_2266.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>(Photo by Andrew Crisp)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ac64NI2YZqw/VTBe-F2Vi_I/AAAAAAAAKb0/V1ep-pzy910/s1600/IMG_2268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ac64NI2YZqw/VTBe-F2Vi_I/AAAAAAAAKb0/V1ep-pzy910/s1600/IMG_2268.JPG" height="305" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">High-five from the hubby on the way in! (Photo by Andrew Crisp)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The finish chute at Sonoma is long, but that gives you plenty of time to bask in the cheers of your friends and family. Andrew was there, along with Jenelle and our friends Andrew and Yvette. &nbsp;I crossed the line in 9:03. Tropical John was there with a hug, and I was full of joy and relief to be done running.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OtR1_Ij8y6A/VTBfQQkET9I/AAAAAAAAKb8/gUZOBkjwArA/s1600/IMG_2255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OtR1_Ij8y6A/VTBfQQkET9I/AAAAAAAAKb8/gUZOBkjwArA/s1600/IMG_2255.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Finishing strong and happy! (Photo by Jenelle Potvin)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My first order of business was to find Erika and Chaz, give hugs, and find out if they had made it in under 9 hours. I knew it was possible, and I still had hope for them. But they both finished in 9:01. Gah! <i>So close.</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thirty minutes, a recovery drink, and one beer later, and I felt worlds better. Now all that was left was to bask in our achievements in the beautiful spring day and cheer for more finishers. My definition of a perfect afternoon.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There’s no denying this race is hard. But there’s also no denying that I love it. Even though I was 4 minutes off my PR for the course, I still feel like this was my best Sonoma yet. I feel like I paced it perfectly. I felt absolutely great right up until those last 2 or 3 miles, (when I suddenly felt like I wanted to die). I think I just ran up against the limits of my training, and I am grateful that I made it all the way to mile 48ish before I did. I just needed a little more gas in the tank, and I came up short.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">From mile 31 to mile 45.5, I was 4 minutes faster than in 2012. But from mile 45.5 to the finish, I was 6 minutes slower than in 2012. God only knows how I ran that section in 53 minutes that year.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The rest of the weekend is <i>really </i>what it was all about. Andrew, Jenelle, Chaz, Drew, Yvette and I had an amazing dinner out in Healdsburg that night. We followed it up with beer tasting at Bear Republic. We were taking a certain amount of pride in shutting down the brewery when I looked behind me to see that Bryon Powell’s table was still going strong outside. Those are the true professionals.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z8KBFaFWY4g/VTBkWqcjLGI/AAAAAAAAKcs/o4ZUZqt3je4/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z8KBFaFWY4g/VTBkWqcjLGI/AAAAAAAAKcs/o4ZUZqt3je4/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B(1).jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Enjoying my amazing trout and a sangria at <a href="http://www.starkrestaurants.com/bravas.html" target="_blank">Bravas </a>(Photo by Jenelle Potvin)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nTnU-jQ9538/VTBkYqOPe8I/AAAAAAAAKc0/9GfwIMOEPM0/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nTnU-jQ9538/VTBkYqOPe8I/AAAAAAAAKc0/9GfwIMOEPM0/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B(2).jpg" height="290" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>With Yvette, Drew, Andrew, and Jenelle. Andrew said Jenelle had enough hair for both of them. (Photo courtesy Jenelle Potvin)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MiGnUGWbadE/VTBg53zb5FI/AAAAAAAAKcc/Bye17P8c_Xc/s1600/IMG_2248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MiGnUGWbadE/VTBg53zb5FI/AAAAAAAAKcc/Bye17P8c_Xc/s1600/IMG_2248.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Taster sets at Bear Republic. Yum!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wxUt8VJ3UHs/VTBg4231HVI/AAAAAAAAKcQ/kt3U55mpTns/s1600/IMG_2249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wxUt8VJ3UHs/VTBg4231HVI/AAAAAAAAKcQ/kt3U55mpTns/s1600/IMG_2249.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>This was someone at Bryon Powell's table at Bear Republic.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And if you have a spouse or significant other who just isn’t into the whole ultrarunning thing, I highly recommend you bring her or him to a weekend at Lake Sonoma 50. First, the prerace dinner at Spoonbar was fabulous! Then, a Saturday night out in Healdsburg is guaranteed to be delicious. And totally hip. (Something we dont get a lot of in small mountain towns.) Sunday always features wine tasting at a vineyard, arranged by John and Lisa. I have never stayed for the wine tasting portion of the race before, but I am here to tell you that I will never skip it again. Andrew assures me that he is coming, too.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qkoljKmh_nI/VTBlPr2XygI/AAAAAAAAKc8/MY9W0Xq_wps/s1600/IMG_2251.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qkoljKmh_nI/VTBlPr2XygI/AAAAAAAAKc8/MY9W0Xq_wps/s1600/IMG_2251.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The view from Pezzi-King vinyards.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6xhPdbpVCRA/VTBlQ4IbDhI/AAAAAAAAKdE/DGRdqCyorCA/s1600/IMG_2252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6xhPdbpVCRA/VTBlQ4IbDhI/AAAAAAAAKdE/DGRdqCyorCA/s1600/IMG_2252.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Enjoying Sunday wine tasting at Pezzi-King with Andrew and Drew.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A huge thanks, as always, to John and Lisa and their team for putting on such an incredible event. This one is top notch in every way and provides such a quintessential slice of our little ultrarunning community.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CnoKnKIqzco/VTBmfZaGyWI/AAAAAAAAKdQ/RPaqiRbAP9I/s1600/IMG_2253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CnoKnKIqzco/VTBmfZaGyWI/AAAAAAAAKdQ/RPaqiRbAP9I/s1600/IMG_2253.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Tropical John gives thanks. Gordy and Craig do their best to imitate his wardrobe.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thanks especially to Chaz, Erika, and Scott for sharing so many miles on the trail with me. That was such a huge, wonderful part of my day.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thanks to Andrew for doing all the driving on Sunday!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have been a thoroughly uninspired runner all season. Sitting here with a case of poison oak (boooo!), a case of wine (yaaaaayy!), and a case of full-fleged post-race glow, and I think, <i>I hope</i>, that time has come to an end. Sonoma is an incredibly challenging race, not just because of its 10K feet of elevation gain, but also because I always seem to push myself so hard there.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ll save you the emotional sermon about why I’ve been in such a slump, but I will say this: There’s nothing to help you out of such a space like pushing yourself, making yourself hurt, feeling surprised at your own abilities, doing it all with friends, and celebrating afterward.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thank you so much, Lake Sonoma. I needed that.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y7C0ASNKIFI/VTBngdhqk9I/AAAAAAAAKdY/KjTUiDiinOQ/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y7C0ASNKIFI/VTBngdhqk9I/AAAAAAAAKdY/KjTUiDiinOQ/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B(3).jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Two people who ran awesome at Lake Sonoma. (And one bull.)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-79667326098306613202015-03-10T14:38:00.000-07:002015-03-10T14:38:41.706-07:00Way Too Cool 50K 2015<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When you’ve been struggling with your motivation like I have, there is no better cure than a long day of moving down sun soaked trails and greeting friends at every turn. For so many of us, the first Saturday of March in Cool, California is the kick off to the spring running season – the beginning of feeling faster and running more consistently. Also, the perfect, summer-like weather that has been present there the last few years certainly marks the change of seasons. It’s hard not to love the <a href="http://wtc50k.com/" target="_blank">Way Too Cool 50K</a>.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It only took me five years at this race to finally figure out how to run it. My training has been incredibly mediocre and uninspired, so I found myself really struggling with my confidence going into it this year. I knew there was no way I would come close to last year’s 4:44. I simply wasn’t in that kind of shape. And there is something mentally challenging about returning to a familiar race knowing it isn’t going to be your best performance. &nbsp;I knew the best part of my day would be seeing friends (It was!), and I put my expectations in check, just hoping to finish in under five hours.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tsnvmihGh5o/VP9b5rMv2nI/AAAAAAAAJ2Q/5_I9nJHT-z4/s1600/IMG_2021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tsnvmihGh5o/VP9b5rMv2nI/AAAAAAAAJ2Q/5_I9nJHT-z4/s1600/IMG_2021.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Jenelle and JP, keeping warm before the start</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I caught a ride down the hill with Jenelle and JP. After a stop for coffee in Colfax, where we ran into fellow Truckee runner Jeff Brown, we made the early arrival in Cool to snag a great parking spot. I always think rock star parking is a good way to set the tone for an awesome day.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Another reason to get to Cool early, besides good parking, is the socializing. It’s easy to miss your faster or slower friends after the race, but in those chilly morning hours we are all there, excited and shivering together. For a day that was predicted to reach 70 degrees, it sure was freezing out at 7:00 AM!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jvKak3hYH0s/VP9cVHk37BI/AAAAAAAAJ2g/DDKAt8gy_WI/s1600/IMG_2026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jvKak3hYH0s/VP9cVHk37BI/AAAAAAAAJ2g/DDKAt8gy_WI/s1600/IMG_2026.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Pre-race with Jamie</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KCQ0Oo0qsdg/VP9cZLdQn_I/AAAAAAAAJ2o/V6ZsWtKplTA/s1600/IMG_2027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KCQ0Oo0qsdg/VP9cZLdQn_I/AAAAAAAAJ2o/V6ZsWtKplTA/s1600/IMG_2027.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Jeff, ready for a great day!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gdJiXZZZvxQ/VP9cbmDVUYI/AAAAAAAAJ2w/KjCkQgdAh2Y/s1600/IMG_2023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gdJiXZZZvxQ/VP9cbmDVUYI/AAAAAAAAJ2w/KjCkQgdAh2Y/s1600/IMG_2023.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Goals</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I lined up with Jamie for the typically fast start of this race. After five years at Cool, the speedy start doesn’t intimidate me anymore. I had a great time on the rolling terrain in those first 8 miles! I met and ran with several runners local to my area – Craig from Reno, and Jeff who just moved to Truckee and is planning on joining my running club, the <a href="http://www.donnerpartymountainrunners.com/" target="_blank">Donner Party Mountain Runners</a>. As we cruised the downhill to Knickerbocker Creek, I was startled to see a makeshift bridge had been placed across it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“When did they put a bridge here?” I asked.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Damn, this race has gotten soft!” I heard a guy behind me joke. I laughed, but I couldn’t disagree. The water was clear and running low – the safest creek crossing you could imagine.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The only part of this loop that wasn’t pleasant was some guy several runners back who thought it would be a good idea to run with a cowbell attached to his hydration pack. I can tell you that after 8 miles, that cowbell became beyond annoying. I heard comments from several other runners about what they’d like to do to that guy and exactly where they’d like to put that cowbell.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I ran back into the first aid station at the start/finish area and handed off my arm warmers to JP. I didn’t need water yet, so I just grabbed a GU and headed out. To my dismay, cowbell guy was right behind me now. I was at the point where I was so annoyed with him that I knew I wouldn’t be able to ask him nicely to put his monotonous noisemaker away, so I just kept my mouth shut. On the downhill, I reminded myself that I wasn’t here to run a fast time, so I deliberately slowed down and let the cowbell guy pass me. I breathed an immediate sigh of relief and felt myself instantly relaxing and smiling. It’s funny how something like that can really get under your skin and put you in a negative mindset.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At the Quarry Road aid station (mile 11), I was greeted by friends Chaz, Pete, and Chris who filled me up with GU Brew and got me on my way in a flash.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uZ1mN4EElNA/VP9dxumLc2I/AAAAAAAAJ28/SMuEU9ohho0/s1600/10995609_10205397883243224_822140640021027721_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uZ1mN4EElNA/VP9dxumLc2I/AAAAAAAAJ28/SMuEU9ohho0/s1600/10995609_10205397883243224_822140640021027721_n.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Coming into Quarry Rd. aid station (photo Pete Broomhall)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t45x14zudV8/VP9d2b5R7SI/AAAAAAAAJ3E/fIzr4_gxDQs/s1600/11057288_10205397883883240_5287133433250432754_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t45x14zudV8/VP9d2b5R7SI/AAAAAAAAJ3E/fIzr4_gxDQs/s1600/11057288_10205397883883240_5287133433250432754_n.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Chaz is on it with the refil! (photo Pete Broomhall)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I started to wonder where Jamie was. We had been running together the first mile until she paused to hand off her arm warmers to a friend. I knew she was in great shape and should smash her PR for the course, so I was expecting her to pass me any minute.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was thoroughly enjoying this mellow section of trail that I run often in training during the late winter months. I had discovered on the drive down that I had forgotten my watch. I won’t try to explain how seriously my head is in the clouds these days, but let’s just say I wasn’t surprised that I had forgotten something. Luckily, the watch wasn’t critical, and in fact, it helped me relax and just run on feel. Since I didn’t have a big goal for this race, that was perfect.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Somewhere before the Main Bar aid station (mile 16.7), I realized I was coming up behind the cowbell guy again.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Oh no!” I heard the men I was running with declare. “It’s him!” We were all relieved when we passed by and realized he had put the cowbell away.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A few minutes later, I was chatting with the woman who had saved us all. She had asked the guy very politely to put the cowbell away. It sounds like he didn’t acquiesce immediately – it took a little discussion and convincing on her part. I give this woman my eternal gratitude!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The ALT aid station always seems like forever in coming. I swear it is farther than 4.3 miles from Main Bar! Sure, all the uphill makes it slow, but I’m certain it has to be closer to 6 miles between those two stations.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As I was closing in on ALT, I saw a woman up ahead that I thought might be Erika Lindland. Awesome! Although I knew I was probably not in good enough shape to be running with her, I was excited to be near here this late in the race. She is a really strong runner, but on my good days, I can hang with her. I made it my goal to try to keep her in sight, but of course in my excitement I started running harder and began closing in on her. After about two miles of slowly gaining, I was right behind her coming into the ALT aid station at mile 21.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Unfortunately for me, she was just a bit faster than I was through the aid station. I saw her leave, assumed I would close the gap, and never saw her again. Ah well. She ended up running a 4:44 which was never going to happen for me, so it’s probably best that I didn’t kill myself trying to keep up with her.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Those last ten miles were probably the best I have ever felt on that stretch in this race. I had taken salt early (beginning at mile 11), stayed hydrated, and wasn’t cramping at all. In contrast, last year I suffered painful cramps for the last hour of the race, plus for another 30 minutes after finishing. I enjoyed the smooth, easy miles to Brown’s Bar, cranked up Goat Hill, and smiled at how great I felt.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I saw friends Kirk and Jenny and asked them if Jamie had come through yet. Maybe she had passed me somewhere and I’d missed her? When they said they hadn’t seen her all day, I started to worry. Where could she be?</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It is always my goal to run it in from the last aid station at Highway 49. It’s only 1.4 miles, but it’s mostly uphill and a little technical. Last year, I had to walk some of it. This year, I had no problem running every step. There were a couple other women kicking ass on this section, and we blew by a handful of men up that hill on our way to the finish line.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have to admit, it was kind of fun not knowing what my time was. I felt pretty confident that I was going to finish in under five hours, but realistically I knew that I was probably not faster than 4:50. I was guessing 4:56, so when I came around the final corner to see 4:50 on the clock, I was all smiles. It was such an awesome surprise!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The surprise that was not so awesome was when Jamie met me at the finish line all cleaned up and changed already. I knew she could not have finished that far ahead of me, even if I’d missed her passing me.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“What happened?” I cried. The look on her face told me it was nothing good, and I had her in a sweaty hug before she could answer. She’d taken a hard fall on the downhill to Quarry Road and had had to drop. It was a crummy turn of events for her day, but so far she didn’t think there was going to be any serious lasting damage.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I headed over to the tent for <a href="http://www.runcanyons.com/" target="_blank">The Canyons Endurance Runs</a> where I had stashed my bag. I barely had time to get my flip flops on before Chaz was handing me a beer. Normally I like to drink my GU recovery drink before any of that, but it was too hard to turn Chaz down. It tasted phenomenal!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Jenelle finished just a few minutes after I did, and we all spent a couple of relaxing hours in the sunshine recovering, cheering on friends, drinking beer, and just generally reveling in the ultra runner scene.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2TYGrNfL3Ao/VP9eiOBgZII/AAAAAAAAJ3M/rPKwHbuzE_c/s1600/IMG_2024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2TYGrNfL3Ao/VP9eiOBgZII/AAAAAAAAJ3M/rPKwHbuzE_c/s1600/IMG_2024.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Pete, Chaz, and Chris, who graciously hosted me and other friends with a chair, shade, and a beer.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BR_qOPXt_Us/VP9ek8qy0FI/AAAAAAAAJ3U/tfjLavbS9pQ/s1600/IMG_2030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BR_qOPXt_Us/VP9ek8qy0FI/AAAAAAAAJ3U/tfjLavbS9pQ/s1600/IMG_2030.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Curt, who hung around after his race long enough to see us slow people finish!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Both the men’s and women’s course records were broken that day, and there was a lot of talk about how all the elite road runners are affecting the sport of trail ultras. I remember the same conversations last year. And I’m pretty sure I heard them the year before that. Sure, it’s true. Of the men’s top ten times on the course, 9 are from the last three years. For the women, 6 of the top ten times are from either last year or this year. If I had run 4:50 at my first Way Too Cool in 2006, I would have finished 5th woman. Ha! That’s hilarious. This year it earned me 30th.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So things are getting speedy, and it makes sense that a fast course with good competition would be the gateway drug for trail-curious roadsters. I think it’s exciting. When I look around at the crowd at Way Too Cool, I just see smiles and happy people. For me, the bigger field and faster runners have done nothing to dampen the spirit of this race, and it’s fun to see such impressive performances. I guess if you prefer a more low-key scene, there’s still plenty of that to be had at other trail races.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thanks so much to RD Julie and to all the volunteers who work so hard to help make this event so successful! I will always be back in some capacity, whether racing, volunteering, or cheering.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-69480080580532225652015-03-03T21:58:00.002-08:002015-03-03T21:58:36.285-08:00The Art Assignment (Assembly Line!) and Thoughts on Art<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Last year, PBS Digital Studios began a weekly video series called <a href="http://theartassignment.com/" target="_blank">The Art Assignment</a>. It features a little bit of art education, work by a specific artist, and an assignment from that artist. Yes, you as the viewer are assigned to do art. I love this concept!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The truth is though, I am not an artist; I am a writer. But okay, I do consider writing an art form. It's a contradiction, perhaps, but there you have it. My art practice is minimal, and my talent is nonexistent. However, I love art! I love viewing it, learning about it, discussing it, and creating it. (I just set my expectations for quality extremely low for any “art” I try to produce! It’s more about the experience.) I think the potential for art to connect us as human beings is immense. It’s kind of how I feel about writing and reading, come to think of it.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My desire to complete an Art Assignment finally came to fruition last week with Bob Snead’s Assembly Line project. Here’s the assignment:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hpoQ1JMnedM?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">While visiting my sister in southern California, I wrangled her into helping me come up with a project for this assignment and talked my nephews into joining us on the assembly line. We had a few specific considerations when trying to decide what object to create. We didn’t want to spend a lot of money on materials. I wanted to pick something that would be fun for the boys, but not frustrating. We also had a limited amount of time.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These considerations speak to the challenge that I call Fitting Art into Real Life. For those of us who are not artists, we have to remind ourselves that creating our art is still valuable. There are always dishes to be washed, snow to be shoveled, dogs to be walked, or weeds to be pulled. That’s life. And it can be hard to justify setting aside those obligations for something that may seem silly or trivial. But creative exercises are not trivial. Besides, I’d wanted to do The Art Assignment for a year; it was time to make it happen!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We settled on making beads out of paper. It was simple, but produced beautiful results. I found myself wondering about whether this was really considered “art.” We found instructions for the beads on several youtube videos, making it not exactly an original idea. Also, most of these youtubers considered themselves “crafters.” Was our project more of a craft?</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After consulting <a href="https://www.google.com/" target="_blank">The Oracle</a> with the question “What is the difference between art and craft?” I learned that it is apparently a long standing debate. Ultimately, it sounds like it is up to you as the artist (or artisan) to decide if your work is art or craft. I found this excellent lesson by Laura Morelli, titled “What is the Difference Between Art and Craft?”&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tVdw60eCnJI?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was struck by some of the things she discussed that Art Assignment curator Sarah Urist Green had talked about in the Assembly Line video. They both started with Leonardo da Vinci as their example, and Morelli’s discussion of the changing definition of art in history sounded a lot like Urist Green’s discussion of master artists working with apprentices to produce their work. It sounded to me like a “craft type” art project was a perfect choice for the assembly line assignment!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These are the steps we came up with:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Cut paper strips from old magazines, narrower on one end and wider on the other end.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">2.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Roll a strip around a bamboo skewer and glue the last bit so the bead stays together.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">3.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Paint the outside with Modge Podge to make it shiny and durable, and place it on the drying rack to dry. (I made a drying rack by stabbing toothpicks into a pizza box.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We had four people and only three jobs, so I figured two people could roll the beads since that was the slowest job. Our first challenge came when both boys wanted to paint the Modge Podge on and neither wanted to roll beads. Once I realized how quick it was to cut the paper, I just did that first. Then my sister and I rolled beads while the boys painted.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ltcqvlNVH7Q/VPaNQLHqsqI/AAAAAAAAJuw/94KTVsOnPxM/s1600/IMG_1900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ltcqvlNVH7Q/VPaNQLHqsqI/AAAAAAAAJuw/94KTVsOnPxM/s1600/IMG_1900.JPG" height="256" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X0brDjtkfoE/VPaNWn2b_NI/AAAAAAAAJu4/3490ETqr3G8/s1600/IMG_1902.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X0brDjtkfoE/VPaNWn2b_NI/AAAAAAAAJu4/3490ETqr3G8/s1600/IMG_1902.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8nTlTMHlUY/VPaNd3NNwEI/AAAAAAAAJvA/HWRpPgNeEzo/s1600/IMG_1903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8nTlTMHlUY/VPaNd3NNwEI/AAAAAAAAJvA/HWRpPgNeEzo/s1600/IMG_1903.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HskNPkrAdmk/VPaNtyGB8NI/AAAAAAAAJvI/u-Z58ZL-8X4/s1600/IMG_1905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HskNPkrAdmk/VPaNtyGB8NI/AAAAAAAAJvI/u-Z58ZL-8X4/s1600/IMG_1905.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BQKn3rYiX0s/VPaNyF5TC5I/AAAAAAAAJvQ/6L_Mxmep3uQ/s1600/IMG_1907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BQKn3rYiX0s/VPaNyF5TC5I/AAAAAAAAJvQ/6L_Mxmep3uQ/s1600/IMG_1907.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Frj0MV3W09Y/VPaN4jC_kPI/AAAAAAAAJvY/1El0N6UaBkE/s1600/IMG_1911.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Frj0MV3W09Y/VPaN4jC_kPI/AAAAAAAAJvY/1El0N6UaBkE/s1600/IMG_1911.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our assembly line was not exactly a machine, which made it all the more satisfying that we were able to do this project. One of the boys went back and forth between our project and the kitchen where he was making chocolate chip cookies – very important! My sister had to depart temporarily in order to create and send out birthday invitations for one of the boys – also important. Hey, this is Fitting Art into Real Life, and we rocked it!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once our beads were done and fully dried, we discovered that we loved them. I especially loved the texture of the shiny Modge Podge after it dried, and the sturdy yet somehow delicate feel it lent them. My sister loved the way the various colors came through and made each bead distinct.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-neR6pHGfrX8/VPaOorTZFKI/AAAAAAAAJvg/qNiXqAL4wRA/s1600/IMG_1917.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-neR6pHGfrX8/VPaOorTZFKI/AAAAAAAAJvg/qNiXqAL4wRA/s1600/IMG_1917.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What I really love about The Art Assignment is how it gets you not only to become an artist yourself, but how it encourages involvement. Even if you don’t create art, there are so many opportunities online to interact around the art. There is online discussion, sharing, inspiration, and learning. My mom worked for 30 years as a docent in a museum, and her talent was getting the kids involved. She knew that learning and remembering happen best when we are doing something – interacting with the art as much as possible. I know this happens in classrooms all the time, but most of us aren’t art students. I love how The Art Assignment has made the world, both online and offline, their classroom and has invited anyone to participate.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These thoughts were on my mind when my sister, my dad, and I went to <a href="http://www.getty.edu/visit/center/" target="_blank">The Getty Center </a>the following day. Laura and I arrived early and were greeted by Aristide Maillol’s “Air,” a nearly empty plaza, and an invitation to pose for a photo with the statue. Talk about interaction with the art!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Jc-L83CbvEs/VPaQvIC7hLI/AAAAAAAAJvs/JV3lS6j8li8/s1600/IMG_1919.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Jc-L83CbvEs/VPaQvIC7hLI/AAAAAAAAJvs/JV3lS6j8li8/s1600/IMG_1919.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GH4RNNl_1ys/VPaQynqhcQI/AAAAAAAAJv0/NPhr9Ve5-_o/s1600/IMG_1921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GH4RNNl_1ys/VPaQynqhcQI/AAAAAAAAJv0/NPhr9Ve5-_o/s1600/IMG_1921.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I handed my phone off to my sister, and dived in excitedly to pose for a picture. Clearly I should have spent more time examining the art, because my pose is way off. Ah well. Because of this, I can now recall with perfect precision the position of the left hand in “Air.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--byRbWQpw28/VPaRVJOdfjI/AAAAAAAAJv8/jhOXtG4Cgkk/s1600/IMG_1920.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--byRbWQpw28/VPaRVJOdfjI/AAAAAAAAJv8/jhOXtG4Cgkk/s1600/IMG_1920.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Posing with a statue in a museum is the kind of thing I have <i>never</i> done before. It feels so inappropriate. Disrespectful. But somehow, being invited by the museum itself took all that away. I loved imitating the floating lady and posting my photo to twitter.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My favorite part about the Getty is the architecture and grounds. I recall it vividly from my one previous visit to the Getty – the year it opened in 1997. This time, I spent a lot of the day taking snapshots of the buildings and views. The two exhibits where we spent most of our time were the <a href="http://www.getty.edu/art/exhibitions/koudelka/" target="_blank">Josef Koudelka exhibit, “Nationality Doubtful,”</a> and <a href="http://www.getty.edu/art/exhibitions/turner/" target="_blank">J.M.W. Turner’s “Painting Set Free”</a>. There is something very powerful about viewing a large body of work from a single artist, and both of these exhibits were captivating.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One thing that stood out to me when I looked around a room full of Turner’s paintings was how every single one had a prominent bright spot of light more or less exactly in the middle. This was the sun, or the light coming from a diffused sun. For me, it overshadowed everything else about the works, but I loved it. It left me with a lot of questions.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I arrived at my dad’s house later that day, I took this photo, which I thought looked very much like a Turner painting:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2nUGbs1Uqm8/VPaS_vl7o9I/AAAAAAAAJwI/pDmb0ajWtjQ/s1600/IMG_1950.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2nUGbs1Uqm8/VPaS_vl7o9I/AAAAAAAAJwI/pDmb0ajWtjQ/s1600/IMG_1950.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">While I still wonder why Turner saw light the way that he did (The curator theorized it was related to developing cataracts in his later years!), I realize that seeing his work affected the way that I see light now. In the same way that you bring your own life experiences to your interpretation of a piece of art, good art will in turn influence the way that you see the world.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Both our project from The Art Assignment and our trip to the Getty got me to interact with the art. They were fun and thought provoking, and I can’t wait for my next artistic opportunity. What will the Art Assignment give us next?</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Bonus pictures from The Getty, because I just can't help myself!</i>&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ID5h2BmsWzQ/VPaT8hUlUeI/AAAAAAAAJwQ/KaXZwO5ISfE/s1600/IMG_1929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ID5h2BmsWzQ/VPaT8hUlUeI/AAAAAAAAJwQ/KaXZwO5ISfE/s1600/IMG_1929.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OwKy4x-1k6M/VPaUArEMUbI/AAAAAAAAJwY/8ZqbEP2V4pw/s1600/IMG_1930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OwKy4x-1k6M/VPaUArEMUbI/AAAAAAAAJwY/8ZqbEP2V4pw/s1600/IMG_1930.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W2N2CrjWNZQ/VPaUE0bergI/AAAAAAAAJwg/6yxy2A5QoAs/s1600/IMG_1940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W2N2CrjWNZQ/VPaUE0bergI/AAAAAAAAJwg/6yxy2A5QoAs/s1600/IMG_1940.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div><br /><br /><br /></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-15437479043897545492015-01-07T22:26:00.001-08:002015-01-08T10:55:19.064-08:00A Lap Around the Lake: How to Run the Entire Tahoe Rim Trail<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4paHzFKOVP4/VK31SDU7ogI/AAAAAAAAJnw/rTqsXfqhnK4/s1600/DSCN0742.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4paHzFKOVP4/VK31SDU7ogI/AAAAAAAAJnw/rTqsXfqhnK4/s1600/DSCN0742.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The shores of Lake Aloha in the Desolation Wilderness</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In late July of 2014, I set off on a 172 mile adventure with four friends. Our goal: run the entire Tahoe Rim Trail.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In contrast to the lately popular notion of FKT’s, we called our attempt “Hotels and IPAs.” We spent four days running, and at the end of each day rewarded ourselves with hot showers, good food, beer, and beds. We didn’t need to do this thing in a single push, and we didn’t need to fastpack it by carrying camping gear for our stops along the way. The Tahoe Rim Trail is fairly well suited to travel in this non-hardcore manner, and I was all about it!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This article serves two purposes. First, it is a narrative of my personal experience on the trail last summer. Second, I hope it can serve as a resource for others wanting to complete the trail themselves. It was an incredible experience, and I encourage anyone motivated to give it a shot.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><u>Trail Basics:</u></b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Distance: 172 miles.</i></b> This is according to the GPS readings of several of my running partners on the trip. (Thank you, Joe and Tyler!) The official distance reported by the TRT Association is 165 miles, but there have been several changes to the route since that number was established.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Terrain: </i></b>The trail travels through a variety of terrain, including forest, open meadows, granite lake basins, and exposed ridge tops. The trail itself is nearly all single track and varies from smooth, pine needle-strewn paths, to sandy trail, to rocky and technical terrain.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Weather: </i></b>Due to the snowpack, the entire trail cannot typically be completed before July. Usually snowfall in October becomes prohibitive, making the best season July – September. Weather in July and August is usually ideal – sunny and dry. However, it is the mountains, and you should be prepared for severe weather at any time. As you will see, we encountered some pretty serious thunderstorms on our journey. Weather in September can be colder and less predictable.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><u>Trail Preparation:</u></b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Group Communication:</i></b> This trip was planned by friends of mine who graciously invited me to join them. Our fearless leader, Chris, did a great job of making sure we were all on the same page long before we started down the trail together. We all knew the logistics for each day, exactly what gear we should bring with us, and guidelines for our time on trail which covered topics like pace, not leaving any runner behind, financial commitment of each of us, and safety. Establishing all the ground rules up front and giving everyone a chance to help create them put everyone’s mind at ease and gave the trip a better chance for success.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Fitness and Experience: </i></b>You should be a fairly confident ultra runner to complete this journey. You do not have to be fast! Preferably you should have solid experience running 50 miles or farther, and some experience with back-to-back long runs. We had a wide variety of experience and speed in our group, but it worked out great because we were clear up front that we would take all day to complete each day’s mileage. In other words, we’d be going slow and stopping for a lot of pictures – absolutely the way I wanted to do it! You should also have some experience with and/or knowledge of wilderness travel – how to stay safe and how to respect the environment. (For some background on this, here are two articles I wrote for iRunFar, the first on <a href="http://www.irunfar.com/2015/01/what-every-trail-runner-needs-to-know-about-time-in-the-wilderness-part-one-safety.html" target="_blank">wilderness safety</a>, and the second on<a href="http://www.irunfar.com/2015/01/what-every-trail-runner-needs-to-know-about-time-in-the-wilderness-part-two-ethics.html" target="_blank"> wilderness ethics</a>.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Logistics:</i></b> We took four full days to run the trail, starting from Echo Summit and going in a clockwise direction. There was definitely some thought put into this decision, and if I repeated this trip, I think I would do it exactly this same way. We had the luxury of having family and friends to crew us, but you could certainly do it without that. Here’s the breakdown of our daily mileage and crew points:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Day 1: [51.2 miles] </b>Echo Summit to Tahoe City. Crew at mile 33 – Barker Pass.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Day 2: [39.4 miles]</b> Tahoe City to Mt. Rose Highway/Tahoe Meadows. Crew at mile 20 – Brockway Summit (Hwy 267).</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Day 3: [42 miles]</b> Tahoe Meadows to Kingsbury South. Crew at mile 23 – Spooner Summit (Hwy 50).</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Day 4: [39.6 miles] </b>Kingsbury South to Echo Summit. Crew at mile 23 – Big Meadows TH (Hwy 89).</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This plan worked well for a few reasons. First, it gave us obvious and easily accessed start/finish points and crew points. It had us running a similar amount of mileage each day, with the exception of day one. Running Echo to Tahoe City was a great choice for day one because it gave us the longest day with the freshest legs. The first 25 miles of that day also covered the most technical terrain. Again, it was great to tackle that part with fresh legs.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AQnhrXLnC6o/VK36rW0VZZI/AAAAAAAAJoA/y4y5idvnph0/s1600/map-using-trail-master%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AQnhrXLnC6o/VK36rW0VZZI/AAAAAAAAJoA/y4y5idvnph0/s1600/map-using-trail-master%2Bcopy.jpg" height="400" width="353" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Overview Map from TahoeRimTrail.org</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Gear: </i></b>The following list is directly from Chris’s gear list, with notes by me.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Hydration pack with minimum 70 oz bladder (I would suggest more water capacity if you are going with no crew.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Nutrition of choice</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Cell Phone</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>ID, emergency contact (Additionally, we had EC numbers for each member of our group entered into all of our phones.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Water treatment (Having everyone bring their own turned out to be a great idea when two of our filters failed!)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Waterproof map and compass (Again, each person should have their own in case anyone accidentally gets separated.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Rain shell (I carried a waterproof shell on the first two days and was mighty glad I had it on day 1. After that, I just carried a windbreaker because the forecast was for clear skies.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Change of clothes/extra layers (I carried a long sleeved shirt, a hat and gloves, and used them all. I also carried a slightly warmer mid-weight layer which I used on day 1.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sunscreen, bug spray</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>First Aid kit</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>TP (Don’t forget extra ziplocks to pack out your trash in a sanitary manner!)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Headlamp (On day 1 we’d be fighting daylight, and it was still an important emergency item for the other days. You never know how long you could be out if you get lost or injured.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Emergency blanket, whistle</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><u>Our Team:</u></b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-54oXmP2lvaQ/VK37QlQTLjI/AAAAAAAAJoI/el2sxUsb3A8/s1600/Chris007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-54oXmP2lvaQ/VK37QlQTLjI/AAAAAAAAJoI/el2sxUsb3A8/s1600/Chris007.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Halfway through day 2. Clockwise from left: Curt, Joe, me, Chris, Tyler (Photo: Chris Perillo)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZpwybOkzF3Y/VK38Mxrn6TI/AAAAAAAAJoU/ByJUcy9okzM/s1600/IMG_1120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZpwybOkzF3Y/VK38Mxrn6TI/AAAAAAAAJoU/ByJUcy9okzM/s1600/IMG_1120.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><b>Chris </b>- Our fearless leader in the planning department, and the only member of the group I had spent any real time with prior to the trip. Earlier in the year we had traveled to, shared many miles, and crossed the finishline together at the Lake Sonoma 50.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tXzjvdESTAs/VK38M3fbzKI/AAAAAAAAJoU/J3CvqQE6BE0/s1600/IMG_1119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tXzjvdESTAs/VK38M3fbzKI/AAAAAAAAJoU/J3CvqQE6BE0/s1600/IMG_1119.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Joe </b>- A super laid-back guy, which belied his badass ultrarunning resume.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8wQgHj-649k/VK38M8LXzlI/AAAAAAAAJoU/5RU_3ZusirI/s1600/IMG_1121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8wQgHj-649k/VK38M8LXzlI/AAAAAAAAJoU/5RU_3ZusirI/s1600/IMG_1121.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><b>Curt </b>- Super fast at the short road races and fellow teacher with a psychology B.A. We found plenty to talk about.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JSJ6z12ZAvA/VK38MzutkdI/AAAAAAAAJoU/brZP4YDqtHo/s1600/IMG_1128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JSJ6z12ZAvA/VK38MzutkdI/AAAAAAAAJoU/brZP4YDqtHo/s1600/IMG_1128.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><b>Tyler </b>- (AKA "Bubble Water")The youngster of the group and my super awesome roommate. She and Curt both came into this adventure with 50 miles as their longest run they'd ever done, and they both finished with no problem!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><u>Our Story:</u></b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our run took place July 29 – August 2, 2014. Heading into it, I was pretty uncertain about my fitness. I had come out of the San Diego 100 in early June injured, and I had just begun to crawl my way back into shape in mid July. I ran the<a href="http://ultrasignup.com/results_event.aspx?did=24111" target="_blank"> TRT 55K </a>on July 19 as a final test. It went well and I came away feeling uninjured (though terribly sore!). The trip was a go!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All of the “drop bags" were given to me a few days before the start. These bags contained all our clean clothes, toiletries, and extra food for the other three days on trail. Since I lived the closest (25 minutes from Tahoe City), my husband Andrew would make sure these bags got to our hotel in Tahoe City before we did on day one. After that, the bags were transferred each day to the family member or friend who was crewing.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Day 1 [51 miles] Echo Summit to Tahoe City</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I met up with Chris, Curt, Tyler, and Joe at Echo Summit, on the south side of Highway 50. Another friend, Antonio, also joined us just for this first day. There are no facilities at this trailhead (no water, no bathrooms, nada) but Chris had verified with the TRTA that we would be allowed to leave our cars parked there for the duration of the trip.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was still dark, but the sun was just starting to give light to the surrounding mountains as we set off down the trail with excitement, smiles, and 30 miles worth of water. By the time we got to Echo Lakes Resort, a mile or two down the trail, it was full light out, and time to make use of the resort’s bathrooms.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We would be traveling through the Desolation Wilderness for a good portion of the day, and here is where we filled out our wilderness permit. It’s simply a self-service stand, fill out the form, no fee, drop half in the box and keep the other half with you.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r8oOl-8RwF8/VK3_2MtZSsI/AAAAAAAAJog/jcZr4eEFwCg/s1600/DSCN0741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r8oOl-8RwF8/VK3_2MtZSsI/AAAAAAAAJog/jcZr4eEFwCg/s1600/DSCN0741.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Tyler, on the rocky trail through Desolation</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xLDETNWxvPQ/VK3_9GfcIqI/AAAAAAAAJow/7f2mucrLHNQ/s1600/Tyler001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xLDETNWxvPQ/VK3_9GfcIqI/AAAAAAAAJow/7f2mucrLHNQ/s1600/Tyler001.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Beautiful but technical trail made for slow going. (Photo: Tyler Lopez)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The 20+ miles from Echo Lake to the Velma Lakes are some of the most beautiful miles of the TRT, and a section I have run many times. The granite lake basins hold a stark beauty very different from the long views or dense forest of other trail sections. Still water mirrors surrounding rocky peaks while bright pink penstemon thrusts itself out from cracks in the mottled granite.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We moved along Echo Lake to wide open Aloha Lake – my favorite. Susie and Heather Lakes followed shortly after. We jogged cautiously on the technical trail, and we got to know each other at a similar pace. Chris was the only member of our group I really knew, and I enjoyed the distraction of the easy chit chat that comes with the standard questions about family, work, lifestyle, and childhood.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7TZMZltL7ro/VK3_7IFEItI/AAAAAAAAJoo/bF25-aAxPo4/s1600/DSCN0749.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7TZMZltL7ro/VK3_7IFEItI/AAAAAAAAJoo/bF25-aAxPo4/s1600/DSCN0749.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Joe, Curt, and Chris on the trail along Heather Lake</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We regretfully passed by many lakes without stopping before heading up Dick’s Pass. This was simply the one day we wouldn’t have time for the luxury of swimming. We had over 50 miles to cover, and we knew we would need most of our 15 hours of daylight to do it. Ironically, the first part of this day also offered up the best and most numerous lakes.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XOWOXQ8spyM/VK4DLO-sCwI/AAAAAAAAJpA/P6sUrsKNscc/s1600/Chris001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XOWOXQ8spyM/VK4DLO-sCwI/AAAAAAAAJpA/P6sUrsKNscc/s1600/Chris001.jpg" height="400" width="287" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Making my way towards Dick's Pass (Photo: Chris Perillo)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The TRT and the PCT are one and the same through this section, until several miles past Barker Pass. There are many trail junctions, but they are all signed, so we just made sure to follow the PCT markers.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By 9:30 we were on the switchbacks climbing the pass, which tops out at over 9,000 feet. The steady pace of an extended climb and the accompanying increase in breathing put an end to the conversation. My brain rested comfortably in a whirl of its own thoughts as my legs climbed upward of their own accord.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rsR0ql27fPk/VK4NYuIxbGI/AAAAAAAAJqE/REwBMiFTvyk/s1600/IMG_1043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rsR0ql27fPk/VK4NYuIxbGI/AAAAAAAAJqE/REwBMiFTvyk/s1600/IMG_1043.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Trail Break! Tyler, Antonio, Chris, Joe, and Curt</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The truth is, I was torn. It had been a tumultuous and emotional time at home, and I felt guilty for the self-indulgence of being out on the trail. Should I be home with my husband? Would that make things easier? Or maybe harder? These thoughts danced around in my head even as I gloried in the surrounding beauty.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B3MsDruEsRA/VK4GHjUax_I/AAAAAAAAJpQ/5xAcNiy2Ojo/s1600/DSCN0750.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B3MsDruEsRA/VK4GHjUax_I/AAAAAAAAJpQ/5xAcNiy2Ojo/s1600/DSCN0750.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Susie Lake</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-85wiVNv9w4s/VK4GHR2KQWI/AAAAAAAAJpM/x7STquCUH5k/s1600/DSCN0752.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-85wiVNv9w4s/VK4GHR2KQWI/AAAAAAAAJpM/x7STquCUH5k/s1600/DSCN0752.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Desolation Wilderness</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XwG-p-bqTes/VK4GHSxhkcI/AAAAAAAAJpU/9A2zXpTa-iE/s1600/DSCN0755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XwG-p-bqTes/VK4GHSxhkcI/AAAAAAAAJpU/9A2zXpTa-iE/s1600/DSCN0755.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Climbing Dick's Pass</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By the time we got over the pass and descended to Lake Fontanillis, it was 11:00. We watched the clouds move in and discussed the possibility of thunder storms. Our normally dry mountains had been hit by a relentless daily barrage of thunder and lightning for the past two weeks, and the forecast called for the same today. It seemed too early for any developing storms, but by 11:30 we heard our first solid clap of thunder that I could no longer write off as “just a passing airplane.” I gave a hearty laugh and grinned at Chris when I heard it. I was just glad we were off the pass!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ve been caught in some pretty nasty lightning storms before where I was not a happy camper. The one benefit of that is that I felt like I had a lot of perspective. A storm would have to get pretty bad before I got really scared. I also knew that the rest of our day, another 25-30 miles, would not take us above treeline on any high, exposed ridges or mountains. I’d packed my rain shell, and extra layers, and I felt prepared.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, as the thunder claps got louder and closer, and the rain poured down around us, we just kept running. The beautiful thing about a lightning storm is its immediacy. It forces you to be in the present moment. No longer was I worried about personal tragedies back home. I was here and now, and that was all.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Although it had been quite warm all morning, I paid careful attention to the temperature. I remember a vivid experience from many years ago in the wilderness of steamy-sauna heat, letting a thunderstorm soak me because it felt so good, a drop in temperature, an increase in wind, and sudden hypothermia. This time, as soon as I felt that slight breeze and that slight drop in temps, I stopped to put my rain jacket on, and everyone else followed suit.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The trail went from bone dry, to muddy, to a complete river in about 15 minutes. When it started hailing, all we could do was laugh. Although the thunder was loud, I could tell it wasn’t insanely close. I didn’t feel in danger of getting struck by lightning.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_7r1Anfz9hA/VK4LeHNPY7I/AAAAAAAAJps/8u9AhdIXjd4/s1600/DSCN0759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_7r1Anfz9hA/VK4LeHNPY7I/AAAAAAAAJps/8u9AhdIXjd4/s1600/DSCN0759.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Hailstorm!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u8qxiQJwHmY/VK4LhYnoSNI/AAAAAAAAJp0/i4mQLplI_EE/s1600/DSCN0760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u8qxiQJwHmY/VK4LhYnoSNI/AAAAAAAAJp0/i4mQLplI_EE/s1600/DSCN0760.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Tyler in the storm. We kept seeing light spots in the sky like this, thinking the storm was passing, but it basically followed us north on the trail.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was at about this time that we ran by a group of seven or eight young backpackers desperately huddled under a hastily pitched rain tarp. They were singing, laughing, hooting, and hollering. I think they were cold, but they were okay and still having fun. Not taking a picture of them was a huge mistake!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We had somehow missed our planned water refill at Middle Velma Lake, and a few in our group were in need of water. I felt pleased with my companions for having no compunction about consulting the map in the middle of a downpour. Finding your next water source is important!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We kept thinking the storm was moving past us, but there was thunder nearby for a good hour or more, and rain for long after that. The temperature definitely dropped, and eventually I even slipped my jacket off briefly to put on my warmer, long sleeved layer under it. I was also wearing gloves. Mid-day in late July – who’d have guessed? Score one for preparedness!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This time of year, most streams marked on the map are dry, so we wouldn’t find water until Richardson Lake, about 5 miles before our planned resupply at Barker Pass. The irony of needing drinking water while soaked in a rain storm was not lost on me, but I also had plenty of water in my pack, so I guess I wasn’t too worried about it. &nbsp;When we did make our stop to refill water, we were also glad that everyone had their own water treatment, as several of our water treatment devices failed.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PjlyIQoF9rg/VK4Mo9OpgHI/AAAAAAAAJp8/p3PgNlSUpok/s1600/Chris002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PjlyIQoF9rg/VK4Mo9OpgHI/AAAAAAAAJp8/p3PgNlSUpok/s1600/Chris002.jpg" height="248" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Richardson Lake after the storm. (Photo: Chris Perillo)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By the time we reached Barker Pass around 3:30, the rain had stopped, and the skies had partially cleared. Our friend Erik met us with a resupply of water, a bag of PBnJ’s, and cans of the best possible aid station food: Pringles and Coke. It was a break that was a life saver, mentally. After the salt and sugar, I felt ready to tackle the remaining miles in to Tahoe City.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MprkTJhQdmY/VK4NYrmEPII/AAAAAAAAJqE/54hMkSTSWs0/s1600/IMG_1044-SMILE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MprkTJhQdmY/VK4NYrmEPII/AAAAAAAAJqE/54hMkSTSWs0/s1600/IMG_1044-SMILE.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Crew stop at Barker Pass: Curt, Joe, Chris, Antonio, Tyler, Me</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S2fRc8OlnM4/VK4NYvF0rEI/AAAAAAAAJqE/eKGCPIUqxes/s1600/IMG_1048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S2fRc8OlnM4/VK4NYvF0rEI/AAAAAAAAJqE/eKGCPIUqxes/s1600/IMG_1048.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Evening light on Page Meadows</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We debated the mileage we had left to run for the day, as the map and the trail signs said different things. In the end, it didn’t matter, and we knew it. We’d get there when we got there. I only hoped it would be before dark.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The last five miles of downhill, I was back on very familiar trail, and it propelled my reluctant legs forward. The late day light through Page Meadows was the only enticement to stop for pictures. After that, it was "head down and bring it home."</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZXBSiE-R0_8/VK4Orr67yNI/AAAAAAAAJqU/dbURapF6vPE/s1600/Chris003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZXBSiE-R0_8/VK4Orr67yNI/AAAAAAAAJqU/dbURapF6vPE/s1600/Chris003.jpg" height="292" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Tyler, Curt, Antonio, Me, Joe (Photo:Chris Perillo)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Tahoe City is the easiest stop logistically, as the trail goes right through town, and the hotel was walking distance. Andrew, who had already dropped our gear at the hotel, met us at the grocery store where we picked up beer and a few other supplies for the next day’s breakfast. Since it was so late, and we knew we needed another early start the next day, we opted to order pizza and eat at the hotel. No place would deliver that late (9:00) on a Thursday night (Seriously, Tahoe City, you are such a sleepy little town!!), but luckily Andrew had a car to pick it up for us.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Seeing Andrew also put my mind at ease regarding being out on the trail. He reassured me that everything was fine at home, and he was genuinely excited for my adventure. After that, I knew I was doing the right thing, and was able to enjoy the rest of my time in the wilderness without question.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A hot shower, 3 slices of pizza, and 1 ½ beers had me relaxed enough for sleep that was made still slightly restless by my aching legs. The alarm would go off at 5:30 the next morning.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Day 2 [39.4 miles] Tahoe City to Tahoe Meadows</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Morning came way too early, and my legs felt incredibly stiff. Tyler and I laughed, as we each rolled out of bed with a similar groan. I had never before followed a 50 mile day with a 40 mile one, (not to mention what would come after that), and I wondered what lay ahead. As our group walked down the street together heading toward the trailhead, I think we were all in a similar state.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The first several miles of trail climb up out of Tahoe City, and I can honestly say I felt like crap. A fake Starbucks frappuccino-in-a-bottle just hadn’t cut it for this caffeine addict. My legs felt like lead. The view, however, was incredible. Beauty and pain – such constant, and wonderful, wilderness companions.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--2hAKJdNAN8/VK4Ppz3LhlI/AAAAAAAAJqc/lmLhd5iSr10/s1600/IMG_1051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--2hAKJdNAN8/VK4Ppz3LhlI/AAAAAAAAJqc/lmLhd5iSr10/s1600/IMG_1051.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>A pause to enjoy the view in the morning light on Day 2.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We distracted each other from the discomfort with more shared stories, and the day heated up as the sun rose high. Fortunately, most of this section to Brockway Summit was shady. There is also almost no water between Tahoe City and Tahoe Meadows, barring the fairly icky Watson Lake at about mile 13, so if you don’t have crew, this would be a day to arrange a water stash at Brockway.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are one or two unmarked turns through this section, but fortunately Chris and Tyler, along with our friend Chaz, had run it as part of their training and scouted the correct route.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OdunzUFQOkM/VK4QaezhwsI/AAAAAAAAJqs/2euWmld-uvI/s1600/Chris004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OdunzUFQOkM/VK4QaezhwsI/AAAAAAAAJqs/2euWmld-uvI/s1600/Chris004.jpg" height="342" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Tyler and Curt run through shaded forest on the first half of Day 2. (Photo: Chris Perillo)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Chris’s wife Natalie was crewing for us at Brockway Summit, and having that halfway point as a goal was wonderful. When we got there, I was overheated, dehydrated, and exhausted. Much to the amusement of my companions, I drank an entire Mountain Dew and followed it with a full can of Coke. Heaven.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U7UwaJ6uYIo/VK4PpygVwiI/AAAAAAAAJqc/lu3FQ7RcnGg/s1600/IMG_1054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U7UwaJ6uYIo/VK4PpygVwiI/AAAAAAAAJqc/lu3FQ7RcnGg/s1600/IMG_1054.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Chris and Tyler enjoy a crew stop at Brockway Summit. Antonio showed up again to share just a few miles!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As we headed in to the second half of our day with more exposed terrain, we nervously watched thunderheads form in the distance. Our concern was this: The forecast again called for a chance of thunderstorms, and we’d be reaching the 10,000 foot high point of the trail, Relay Peak, near the end of the day – just when the storms could be reaching their full potential.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My energy was low, but I was keenly aware that my injury from earlier in the summer did not seem to be flaring up. The gratitude for my good health sustained me when my poor fitness could not. I was down to simply putting one foot in front of the other, letting the presence of my friends pull me up the mountain.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ijOFwwtZz74/VK4SLn8-YUI/AAAAAAAAJrQ/z3AsNK4AlLU/s1600/IMG_0916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ijOFwwtZz74/VK4SLn8-YUI/AAAAAAAAJrQ/z3AsNK4AlLU/s1600/IMG_0916.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Chris and Curt on the climb.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The clouds moved in to give us a break from the relentless heat of the Sierra Sun. We heard a few quiet rumbles in the sky and felt a few cool sprinkles, but any serious thunder cells remained distant. We felt triumphant at the summit: The high point of the trail, and approximately halfway on our journey.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--P2dRoW2fQQ/VK4RYpYwaVI/AAAAAAAAJrA/7He39TJ_a1U/s1600/Chris008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--P2dRoW2fQQ/VK4RYpYwaVI/AAAAAAAAJrA/7He39TJ_a1U/s1600/Chris008.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Chris, near the summit with the clouds rolling in.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OW5FM6bBL5o/VK4RYIYkMSI/AAAAAAAAJq0/Z7SSb-XWMoo/s1600/Tyler002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OW5FM6bBL5o/VK4RYIYkMSI/AAAAAAAAJq0/Z7SSb-XWMoo/s1600/Tyler002.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Me, contemplating the view. (Photo: Tyler Lopez)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Only five or six miles of downhill lay in front of us to the day’s end at Mt. Rose highway. My legs were trashed though from the previous 85 miles, so I proceeded gingerly. Eventually, I found myself with Tyler, picking our way down the trail and sharing stories while the boys cruised ahead. The beauty of the waterfall on the Mt. Rose trail, along with the knowledge that we were nearly finished for the day, was enough to keep us both smiling.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2T9qBt73OOI/VK4RYHx_pBI/AAAAAAAAJq4/Gtej5W_4y5Y/s1600/Tyler003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2T9qBt73OOI/VK4RYHx_pBI/AAAAAAAAJq4/Gtej5W_4y5Y/s1600/Tyler003.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Photographing the waterfall. (Photo: Tyler Lopez)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h1NSs1Fx8F0/VK4SzXiFCdI/AAAAAAAAJrY/fbLWKp9N3aU/s1600/IMG_1065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h1NSs1Fx8F0/VK4SzXiFCdI/AAAAAAAAJrY/fbLWKp9N3aU/s1600/IMG_1065.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Waterfall!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mt. Rose Meadows on Highway 431 is quite a ways above the Lake and the closest town of Incline Village. Tyler’s friend Kevin was there to pick us up and bring us all back to a cabin we had rented for the night in Kings Beach for a very reasonable rate. Once there, we lined up for the shower, and Natalie served us all awesome homemade enchiladas. Washed down with a few choice micro brews, of course.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In retrospect, that second day was definitely the hardest for me. Starting the morning with sore and tired legs, knowing I still had over a hundred miles left in the journey, was even more of a mental challenge than a physical one.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Day 3 [42 miles] Tahoe Meadows to Kingsbury South</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K9a-7qtkbhw/VK4THnEsvKI/AAAAAAAAJrg/Sw4_Pjg5xP0/s1600/IMG_0927.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K9a-7qtkbhw/VK4THnEsvKI/AAAAAAAAJrg/Sw4_Pjg5xP0/s1600/IMG_0927.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Morning at Tahoe Meadows</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0qU8ai7f8EU/VK4Tw0EzsJI/AAAAAAAAJrs/eHklA3oOkZY/s1600/IMG_1068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0qU8ai7f8EU/VK4Tw0EzsJI/AAAAAAAAJrs/eHklA3oOkZY/s1600/IMG_1068.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On day 3, I discovered my breakfast of champions: A real cup of coffee and a few Advil. You will not catch me taking Vitamin I during a race, when I am frequently pushing my limits. I am too aware of the potential risks. But at this trip’s modest pace, and with these sore legs, I felt okay about it – especially after I felt so awesome that morning!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The trail leaving Tahoe Meadows is smooth, mellow, and beautiful. We were in high spirits, running, joking, and enjoying the soft morning light. We made great time, and were soon on trails familiar to most of us from running the Tahoe Rim Trail races. All the way to Spooner Summit the miles seemed to fly.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tnha8O6GAso/VK4Tw6A6OqI/AAAAAAAAJrs/KynVMUItuR4/s1600/IMG_1072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tnha8O6GAso/VK4Tw6A6OqI/AAAAAAAAJrs/KynVMUItuR4/s1600/IMG_1072.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Lupine along the trail.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3HxLLizgLOQ/VK4Twyf63bI/AAAAAAAAJrs/gCz-H6arAyQ/s1600/IMG_1073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3HxLLizgLOQ/VK4Twyf63bI/AAAAAAAAJrs/gCz-H6arAyQ/s1600/IMG_1073.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Tyler and Chris</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-67qGtq3ShGw/VK4UEi1bjdI/AAAAAAAAJr4/u0VZNpDxW68/s1600/IMG_0953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-67qGtq3ShGw/VK4UEi1bjdI/AAAAAAAAJr4/u0VZNpDxW68/s1600/IMG_0953.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Joe makes the climb up to Snow Valley Peak.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YchKY17Kknw/VK4V7Xdc69I/AAAAAAAAJsM/jqbSu7ur1AU/s1600/IMG_1078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YchKY17Kknw/VK4V7Xdc69I/AAAAAAAAJsM/jqbSu7ur1AU/s1600/IMG_1078.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Kevin met us at Spooner at about mile 23 for a refill of liquids and snacks. There had been water available from a pump at Marlette Campground about 13 miles in, but that had been a bit early to refill. I have to admit, the crew stops were a great way to break up the day.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The second half of day 3’s journey consisted of trail with which I was mostly unfamiliar. I didn’t quite have the pep in my stride that I’d had all day, but I had the motivation of knowing we were getting closer with every step.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZWCvte5G7ss/VK4VNVBCWBI/AAAAAAAAJsE/B6ZRd-uRsPw/s1600/Chris014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZWCvte5G7ss/VK4VNVBCWBI/AAAAAAAAJsE/B6ZRd-uRsPw/s1600/Chris014.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Lunch break! (Photo: Chris Perillo)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We’d been treated to jaw-dropping lake views for most of the day, and now we paused to take it all in. I looked across to the Desolation Wilderness, where we’d been just two days before in a roiling thunderstorm. Today, there was nothing but blue sky.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Wow,” I remarked to Joe, “Did you notice that every single stretch of mountains that we can see around this entire lake is one that we’ve already run?”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He nodded, grinning.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“There are the peaks of Desolation, where we started,” I went on, my arm pointing across the lake. “There’s Tahoe City. There’s Mt. Rose where we finished yesterday, and there’s Marlette Peak and Snow Valley where we ran today.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“That is awesome,” Chris agreed, joining us.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s0_wKI79-R4/VK4V7cK9V2I/AAAAAAAAJsM/g5JcBjsKUYg/s1600/IMG_1085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s0_wKI79-R4/VK4V7cK9V2I/AAAAAAAAJsM/g5JcBjsKUYg/s1600/IMG_1085.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Seeing how far we'd come.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-e1VlNGiyaaw/VK4V7UsXq6I/AAAAAAAAJsM/hoy3jGecIbU/s1600/IMG_1086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-e1VlNGiyaaw/VK4V7UsXq6I/AAAAAAAAJsM/hoy3jGecIbU/s1600/IMG_1086.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Tyler</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We knew we still had ten miles or so to run that day, and another 40 the next, but it felt like nothing. Seeing it all laid out before us like that, every mile we’d traveled so far, it seemed hard to believe. We were thrilled not only at having come so far, but at simply being in the wilderness with friends and covering ground. There is something almost magical about running a loop trail and being able to see exactly where you’ve been and exactly where you’ll end up.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At the end of the day, Kevin was there to give us another ride from the trailhead to our hotel in South Lake – about a 15 minute drive. We celebrated our last night feeling slightly out of place at the Stateline Brewery, which was teeming with well-dressed tourists. I had never realized high heels and North Face jackets were such a fashionable combination.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Day 4 [39.5 miles]</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Getting out of bed on our last morning was just as hard as it had been the previous two. My legs ached and sleep had been restless. The group consensus was that none of us had slept well for most of the trip. No matter, though. The last day was upon us.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Forty miles is a long way, no matter how you slice it. One would think it especially long with the knowledge that we had already run over 130 on this journey. Truthfully, though, we weren’t the least bit intimidated. We arrived at the trailhead full of energy, flush with confidence. It felt like the beginning of our victory lap.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Kevin and our friend Chaz joined us for this last day, and their enthusiasm and fresh legs somehow added energy to our tired ones.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U79Zajfl7PA/VK4YA5ZnkuI/AAAAAAAAJso/zi1BZkDx6Rs/s1600/IMG_0962.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U79Zajfl7PA/VK4YA5ZnkuI/AAAAAAAAJso/zi1BZkDx6Rs/s1600/IMG_0962.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The tentative getting-to-know-you questioning of the first day had long since given way to joking, teasing, and deeper conversations. A story from Curt about a friend’s suicide and one from me about my mother’s struggle with ALS were shortly followed by the insistence that Chris and I still needed nicknames.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The other three had earned their nicknames early on. Tyler was “Bubble Water” for the beverage she preferred to beer. Joe was “It’s Runnable” because that’s how he assessed nearly every mile of trail, no matter the steepness. Curt earned the name “Moving Time” for keeping an obsessive eye on his Garmin and constantly apprising us of our pace. Chris and I remained undistinguished.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UzVH8ITXq7Q/VK4WzutNX2I/AAAAAAAAJsc/u_bwyDlh_H8/s1600/IMG_1106-EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UzVH8ITXq7Q/VK4WzutNX2I/AAAAAAAAJsc/u_bwyDlh_H8/s1600/IMG_1106-EFFECTS.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The trail headed far south of Lake Tahoe that day, and we were instead granted views of high desert terrain in the Washoe Valley to the east before heading back into forest and exposed alpine climbs. Curt’s wife Leia crewed for us at the Big Meadow trailhead, and after that, the whole thing just seemed like one big party. We marveled at the lack of any serious problems on the trip, and spent our last 15 miles celebrating our success.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6GKbZt_cOgo/VK4WzuSQ-DI/AAAAAAAAJsc/eBj0vcNawHY/s1600/IMG_1103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6GKbZt_cOgo/VK4WzuSQ-DI/AAAAAAAAJsc/eBj0vcNawHY/s1600/IMG_1103.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Departing the Big Meadows trailhead for our final 15 miles.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“My legs actually feel pretty good today!” I observed, puzzled, as we ran along.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Oh yeah?” prompted Chris.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Yeah. I felt the worst on our second day, and wasn’t totally sure I could make it, but now I feel stronger.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“It just took 3 days for your body to realize this is the new normal.” Chaz explained. “Now, it’s like ‘Okay, I know what’s up. Let’s go!’”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ridiculous logic, with which I was in total agreement.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lsXMZCgaYAA/VK4WzrVhqoI/AAAAAAAAJsc/x8UNseMilgU/s1600/IMG_1107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lsXMZCgaYAA/VK4WzrVhqoI/AAAAAAAAJsc/x8UNseMilgU/s1600/IMG_1107.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Chaz and Carrie at Round Lake</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Arriving at Round Lake, we took time for our only swim of the trip. Our friend Carrie showed up to join us after running in from the trailhead at Echo. Chris, having just earned his nickname of “Candy Nuts” dubbed me “Pippi Porn.” <i>Lovely.</i> There was no arguing my way out of that nickname though on such a beautiful, triumphant day among such fun people. Our overheated bodies basked in the cool water of the lake, and our spirits soared.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j6PTgoBpVbE/VK4Y06QQfBI/AAAAAAAAJsw/YA5A7DjGfuo/s1600/Chris012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j6PTgoBpVbE/VK4Y06QQfBI/AAAAAAAAJsw/YA5A7DjGfuo/s1600/Chris012.jpg" height="400" width="385" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Me, Chris, Tyler. Joyous at Round Lake. (Photo: Chris Perillo)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VAi8ZvvUQ7c/VK4WzlWz4YI/AAAAAAAAJsc/L5f6Wide_YM/s1600/IMG_1113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VAi8ZvvUQ7c/VK4WzlWz4YI/AAAAAAAAJsc/L5f6Wide_YM/s1600/IMG_1113.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Goofing around in the final miles.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dmonbUwWm5Q/VK4ZPJkj5UI/AAAAAAAAJs4/W7ByIiZCOnM/s1600/Chris011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dmonbUwWm5Q/VK4ZPJkj5UI/AAAAAAAAJs4/W7ByIiZCOnM/s1600/Chris011.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">(Photo: Chris Perillo)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The last couple of miles to Echo resumed the technical, rocky challenges of Desolation Wilderness. The downhill was difficult on trashed legs, and we each took it easy at our own pace.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Within a few hundred yards of the trailhead, we regrouped so that we could have our final, triumphant run in together. Chaz and Carrie had run ahead so they could photograph the moment. There was only one problem. Where was Bubble Water??</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Tyler and Kevin had dropped back together, so we waited for them. And waited. Had we been too hasty in our celebration of no problems? We finally connected with them via text to learn that they had missed a turn but were now back on course and would be there soon. Whew!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After that, it was nothing but ear-to-ear grins. We celebrated at the trailhead with pictures, beers, and Pringles.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2wvHhliW8FU/VK4Wzn52n5I/AAAAAAAAJsc/5FIqbpIwNZU/s1600/IMG_1123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2wvHhliW8FU/VK4Wzn52n5I/AAAAAAAAJsc/5FIqbpIwNZU/s1600/IMG_1123.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5gFhzmIj_34/VK4Zkp4cvwI/AAAAAAAAJtI/Tf9SLPRYtm0/s1600/Chris013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5gFhzmIj_34/VK4Zkp4cvwI/AAAAAAAAJtI/Tf9SLPRYtm0/s1600/Chris013.jpg" height="318" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Fab Five at Echo Summit. Back where it all began.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">To be honest, for a trip that I put very little planning into and almost had to skip due to injury, it turned out better than I could have imagined. The planning and preparation that the other group members put in was certainly one of the keys to our success. I think another key was the positive and relaxed attitude that everyone brought. When you go on an adventure with people you don’t know well, you never know how it’s going to go. I loved the way our personalities meshed, and it comes as no surprise to me that we are now in the midst of planning next summer’s big adventure run together.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><u>Logistics Wrap-Up:</u></b></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Tips for crew-less runners:</i></b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Day 1:</i></b> There is water available all along the trail. Don't forget to treat your water!It is plentiful until Middle Velma Lake, then you can refill at Richardson Lake, then Ward Creek. Hotels and a grocery store in Tahoe City are right off the trail.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i></i></b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i></i></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Day 2:</i></b> Water is sparse. Watson Lake is at mile 13, but the water isn’t great. I would suggest stashing water ahead of time at Brockway Summit. Make sure it is clearly labeled with your name and date, <i>and make sure you pack out your trash!</i> There are no garbage cans at the trailhead, so just flatten the water bottles and strap them to your hydration pack. No excuses for littering! The trailhead at the end of the day (Tahoe Meadows) will require transportation to Incline Village, and back to the trailhead in the morning. There are a lot of options for lodging in Incline. A less expensive, though farther, option is Kings Beach.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Day 3: </i></b>Water is available at the Marlette Campground, about 14 miles in. Make sure you leave here with a full supply because it is 28 miles to Kingsbury South, with no guaranteed water sources between. You will again need transportation from Kingsbury South trailhead into the town of South Lake Tahoe. Once there, restaurants and stores are within walking distance of hotels.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i></i></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i></i></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Day 4:</i></b> Water is available at Star Lake, Round Lake, the Upper Truckee River, and Showers Lake. As with all backcountry water sources, make sure you treat your water before drinking!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MBpDZIfNhzQ/VK4aNJNJzdI/AAAAAAAAJtQ/-QW9KsESp1I/s1600/IMG_1126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MBpDZIfNhzQ/VK4aNJNJzdI/AAAAAAAAJtQ/-QW9KsESp1I/s1600/IMG_1126.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Five pairs of feet X 172 miles = Super tough!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Food:</i></b> Please do not stash food for yourself ahead of time along your route! There is no place where it will be safe from critters. You can restock your food daily from stores in town.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2gMgk0VCeYM/VK4aNGJlO1I/AAAAAAAAJtQ/duFnjYp3_ng/s1600/IMG_1127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2gMgk0VCeYM/VK4aNGJlO1I/AAAAAAAAJtQ/duFnjYp3_ng/s1600/IMG_1127.JPG" height="238" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">All the flavors of Aid Station Goodness</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Transportation:</i></b> You can consider hitchhiking, depending on the size of your group, but it is not always easy to catch a ride, especially from lightly visited Kingsbury South. A better option is to call a taxi, or check out <a href="http://shuttlearoundtahoe.com/">shuttlearoundtahoe.com</a>&nbsp;to arrange a ride.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><u><b>Resources:&nbsp;</b></u></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Maps:</i></b> A great map is the <a href="http://www.rei.com/product/654457/tom-harrison-cartography-lake-tahoe-tahoe-rim-trail-recreation-map#tab-questionsAndAnswers" target="_blank">Tom Harrison Lake Tahoe and Tahoe Rim Trail Recreation Map.</a> The TRTA website also has section maps. These are helpful for trip planning, but not as good for navigation as the Tom Harrison map.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Cost:</i></b> This was a surprisingly low cost trip, although it helped that we all live within 2 hours of the trail, so transportation cost was minimal. We split costs for three nights of lodging, three nights of dinner, “aid station” food and drinks for 4 days, and gifts for our crew. (Breakfasts and trail food we bought individually.) Our total cost was $1,415, which means that, split 5 ways, we each spent $285.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>More info:</i></b> <i>The Tahoe Rim Trail Association</i> runs a great website rife with information, including segment maps, directions to trailheads, and information on water and other resources. <a href="http://tahoerimtrail.org/">tahoerimtrail.org</a> You can also apply to the “165 Club” for anyone who has completed the entire trail. It’s free with membership to the TRTA ($35). Considering everything they do for the trail, and all the information you will get from them, it’s a great organization to support.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tj-59eiU2iE/VK4bB0P7YLI/AAAAAAAAJtc/pLZ84BWXTqc/s1600/IMG_1063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tj-59eiU2iE/VK4bB0P7YLI/AAAAAAAAJtc/pLZ84BWXTqc/s1600/IMG_1063.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">If you have any questions, feel free to pose them in comments. I'll do my best to answer or point you in the right direction!</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><br /><br />Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-16675256253680730032015-01-02T09:20:00.000-08:002015-01-02T09:20:00.090-08:00Stargazing<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>When it is dark enough, you can see the stars. </i>- Ralph Waldo Emerson</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As many of you know, 2014 was not exactly a banner year in my household. I seriously considered writing a satirical Christmas letter filled with only the bad stuff, but I wasn't sure my friends and family would appreciate my attempt to laugh at it all.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The reality, though, is that there were many, many wonderful small moments this year. Mostly they were moments of love. Love from my family, and love from my spectacularly wonderful husband. For us, it seems that hard times have brought us all closer, and that is certainly a reason to celebrate.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I look forward to better things in 2015, but for now, here is a glance back at a few things that made me smile this year.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rgHh-2LxAUQ/VKR7yoRjPSI/AAAAAAAAJOY/6WpW3g38WAM/s1600/IMG_0495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rgHh-2LxAUQ/VKR7yoRjPSI/AAAAAAAAJOY/6WpW3g38WAM/s1600/IMG_0495.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>January rock climbing in Tahoe with my sweetie.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MN9pSemUHcU/VKR7yuYi1uI/AAAAAAAAJOY/ws5yD12bjwo/s1600/IMG_0514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MN9pSemUHcU/VKR7yuYi1uI/AAAAAAAAJOY/ws5yD12bjwo/s1600/IMG_0514.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>With sister Laura at the annual SnowJam in Arnold.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2whUBBcLh0M/VKR7yoMPRcI/AAAAAAAAJOY/IWv7E8j6ZmA/s1600/IMG_0545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2whUBBcLh0M/VKR7yoMPRcI/AAAAAAAAJOY/IWv7E8j6ZmA/s1600/IMG_0545.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Chicks at Way Too Cool 50K</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jXs1fI5YZsA/VKR7ymO-i5I/AAAAAAAAJOY/j-YIMEob6Fk/s1600/IMG_0561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jXs1fI5YZsA/VKR7ymO-i5I/AAAAAAAAJOY/j-YIMEob6Fk/s1600/IMG_0561.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Skiing!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UB-W-fDHUc8/VKR7yrpt5-I/AAAAAAAAJOY/cDyxCi1AkqI/s1600/IMG_0591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UB-W-fDHUc8/VKR7yrpt5-I/AAAAAAAAJOY/cDyxCi1AkqI/s1600/IMG_0591.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">After a run up Old 40, JP and Kathy D still aren't tired!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F6zT-vlUuvY/VKR7ylDfbSI/AAAAAAAAJOY/C15SOYcnMMw/s1600/IMG_0630.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F6zT-vlUuvY/VKR7ylDfbSI/AAAAAAAAJOY/C15SOYcnMMw/s1600/IMG_0630.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Lake Sonoma 50 crew.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6ETYt_k90cs/VKR7yo5YwcI/AAAAAAAAJOY/tdrHEmN411k/s1600/IMG_0651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6ETYt_k90cs/VKR7yo5YwcI/AAAAAAAAJOY/tdrHEmN411k/s1600/IMG_0651.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Finding friends at the bottom of Eldorado Canyon.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zmAlXBtibkw/VKR7yqo6W1I/AAAAAAAAJOY/atuewydJCEg/s1600/IMG_0676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zmAlXBtibkw/VKR7yqo6W1I/AAAAAAAAJOY/atuewydJCEg/s1600/IMG_0676.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Before the Bishop 100K</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FDaCMBJDHV4/VKR7yl4S-fI/AAAAAAAAJOY/ZLxa2JiILF0/s1600/IMG_0710.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FDaCMBJDHV4/VKR7yl4S-fI/AAAAAAAAJOY/ZLxa2JiILF0/s1600/IMG_0710.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Recovery drinks after a run on the Flume Trail.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VJtrCwDnPL0/VKR7ygXBu1I/AAAAAAAAJOY/fMHp7cMx5Ro/s1600/IMG_0785.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VJtrCwDnPL0/VKR7ygXBu1I/AAAAAAAAJOY/fMHp7cMx5Ro/s1600/IMG_0785.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Dream Team (Laura and Jamie) at San Diego 100.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QhH7Oj6YIio/VKR7yoF70TI/AAAAAAAAJOY/8WkHsTYOhdI/s1600/IMG_0796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QhH7Oj6YIio/VKR7yoF70TI/AAAAAAAAJOY/8WkHsTYOhdI/s1600/IMG_0796.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Monday evening run with the Donner Party Mountain Runners.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kayvvwpaGIQ/VKR7ymGAREI/AAAAAAAAJOY/80OZxoWatVo/s1600/IMG_0802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kayvvwpaGIQ/VKR7ymGAREI/AAAAAAAAJOY/80OZxoWatVo/s1600/IMG_0802.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Penstemon on the PCT</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M02tqHfP6BE/VKR7yvG3ogI/AAAAAAAAJOY/o5C8aYVrOro/s1600/IMG_1102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M02tqHfP6BE/VKR7yvG3ogI/AAAAAAAAJOY/o5C8aYVrOro/s1600/IMG_1102.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Four days on the TRT with an amazing group.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AMzpYiwwaHI/VKR7ymT5hyI/AAAAAAAAJOY/kZvk7PKHycA/s1600/IMG_1267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AMzpYiwwaHI/VKR7ymT5hyI/AAAAAAAAJOY/kZvk7PKHycA/s1600/IMG_1267.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Post-run in the Hoover Wilderness.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZXpl6qIGab8/VKR7yrBNK8I/AAAAAAAAJOY/y_UwbW3N11w/s1600/IMG_1301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZXpl6qIGab8/VKR7yrBNK8I/AAAAAAAAJOY/y_UwbW3N11w/s1600/IMG_1301.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Bike ride with dad in SoCal</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hOaj89oblLA/VKR7ysXUbLI/AAAAAAAAJOY/TtjWAyN3eMc/s1600/IMG_1303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hOaj89oblLA/VKR7ysXUbLI/AAAAAAAAJOY/TtjWAyN3eMc/s1600/IMG_1303.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Laura sings "I'll Fly Away"</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xYy-e9eW7kU/VKR7yug4S-I/AAAAAAAAJOY/pa97Z296oj4/s1600/IMG_1314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xYy-e9eW7kU/VKR7yug4S-I/AAAAAAAAJOY/pa97Z296oj4/s1600/IMG_1314.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Becoming a member of the UNAFRAID!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qZhKxZ1DSlI/VKR7yvYvZHI/AAAAAAAAJOY/Fal-t3n_hi4/s1600/IMG_1322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qZhKxZ1DSlI/VKR7yvYvZHI/AAAAAAAAJOY/Fal-t3n_hi4/s1600/IMG_1322.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Pacing Victor at the Tahoe 200</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r0887iXazGw/VKR7ypxOGvI/AAAAAAAAJOY/hyl1hszrHHU/s1600/IMG_1335.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r0887iXazGw/VKR7ypxOGvI/AAAAAAAAJOY/hyl1hszrHHU/s1600/IMG_1335.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Muscle power gets the concrete countertops in place!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KobeueyxJzw/VKR7yh-g43I/AAAAAAAAJOY/E221TKT2-Pk/s1600/IMG_1378-EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KobeueyxJzw/VKR7yh-g43I/AAAAAAAAJOY/E221TKT2-Pk/s1600/IMG_1378-EFFECTS.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">14-year-old Gus still gets after it like a puppy!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HHYJYSbiDi4/VKR7yk1TRyI/AAAAAAAAJOY/5Mu1nI1M8p0/s1600/IMG_1413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HHYJYSbiDi4/VKR7yk1TRyI/AAAAAAAAJOY/5Mu1nI1M8p0/s1600/IMG_1413.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Celebration of 14 years of marriage&nbsp;</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EqdRRHh08b8/VKR7yjb5VfI/AAAAAAAAJOY/zgOPB5vGqGA/s1600/IMG_1463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EqdRRHh08b8/VKR7yjb5VfI/AAAAAAAAJOY/zgOPB5vGqGA/s1600/IMG_1463.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Donner Summit to Sierra City on the PCT</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LiKvpt5mJEk/VKSBihexdsI/AAAAAAAAJds/tniFgPRU-Wc/s1600/IMG_1536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LiKvpt5mJEk/VKSBihexdsI/AAAAAAAAJds/tniFgPRU-Wc/s1600/IMG_1536.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Fall on the trails in the Trinity Alps</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yP5DXA8w_bg/VKSBitEJD0I/AAAAAAAAJds/ucKtO-LuBnY/s1600/IMG_1513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yP5DXA8w_bg/VKSBitEJD0I/AAAAAAAAJds/ucKtO-LuBnY/s1600/IMG_1513.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Family hike along the Little Truckee River</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JPd2m27FhMo/VKSBiphxoKI/AAAAAAAAJds/GZcQrbqdahQ/s1600/IMG_1557.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JPd2m27FhMo/VKSBiphxoKI/AAAAAAAAJds/GZcQrbqdahQ/s1600/IMG_1557.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Windows at Segerstrom Hall, where Dad and I saw the L.A. Philharmonic</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Utpkpx0Uxs8/VKSBin4b5ZI/AAAAAAAAJds/lVitr0DeYOo/s1600/IMG_1578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Utpkpx0Uxs8/VKSBin4b5ZI/AAAAAAAAJds/lVitr0DeYOo/s1600/IMG_1578.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Andrew and Spencer get goofy while cooking me up a fab birthday dinner.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pp9xh7hF6T4/VKSBivE-t3I/AAAAAAAAJds/M3zMUWHNr68/s1600/IMG_1614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pp9xh7hF6T4/VKSBivE-t3I/AAAAAAAAJds/M3zMUWHNr68/s1600/IMG_1614.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">With Helen before the start of CIM</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b0Be5Tb3rks/VKSBiti9U5I/AAAAAAAAJds/560mxHSZcng/s1600/IMG_1633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b0Be5Tb3rks/VKSBiti9U5I/AAAAAAAAJds/560mxHSZcng/s1600/IMG_1633.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Powder day at Sugar Bowl with my sweetie</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I wish you all a happy and healthy 2015, and I hope to see you out on the trails!</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-51682231917404591832014-12-09T23:03:00.000-08:002014-12-09T23:42:46.517-08:00California International Marathon 2014<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nothing takes the sting out of being a double lottery loser like having a race to focus on the next day. <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2014/12/western-states-hardrock-cim-oh-my.html" target="_blank">It was all part of the plan</a>! Seven of us sat together at the Placer High School auditorium for the <a href="http://www.wser.org/" target="_blank">Western States</a>lottery on Saturday, and seven of us walked out into the rainy morning disappointed but alarmingly philosophical.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Next year!” declared Chaz, who did not get picked for the fifth year in a row. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I laughed and shook my head. I mean, what else can you say, really. Four of our seven had also been entered in, and shut out of, the <a href="http://hardrock100.com/" target="_blank">Hardrock</a> lottery that same morning.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“On to CIM!” implored Molly.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And that was that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had been enticed to enter into the <a href="http://runcim.org/" target="_blank">CaliforniaInternational Marathon</a> by friends while running 173 miles on the Tahoe Rim Trail this summer. A flat road marathon is essentially the opposite of four days romping 173 miles on mountain trails, and I was excited that people other than me found both to be appealing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The training had also provided some structure to what you might call a fairly fluid time in my life. My goal was to better my PR (<a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-eugene-marathon.html" target="_blank">3:11:44at Eugene in 2013</a>) and hopefully sneak under 3:10. I don’t run a lot of road marathons, but I do love doing them occasionally to see where I am with my fitness. I couldn’t really see spending the money on CIM, as well as taking the time to train, if I wasn’t going for a PR.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By the time race day rolled around, I knew I had some holes in my training which made me uncertain about my prospects, but I had felt similarly before Eugene. I didn’t feel overwhelmingly confident, but I’d had a few really strong workouts, and I thought running 3:10 was at least a possibility.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G8rscFc5A7Y/VIfs2j8Rq1I/AAAAAAAAI5Q/1E0eNsBM4Q8/s1600/photo%2B1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G8rscFc5A7Y/VIfs2j8Rq1I/AAAAAAAAI5Q/1E0eNsBM4Q8/s1600/photo%2B1.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Ready to head to the start with Jamie</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thus I found myself on a perfect Sunday morning in Folsom, lining up with the 3:10 pace group, along with friends Chaz and Chris who had similar goals. All three of us expressed doubts, but smiled in excitement at the possibility of the day. I had already seen Helen at the gear truck, and Jamie and Molly who were leading the 3:35 and 3:45 pace groups respectively. Curt gave us a quick hello before moving up to start with the fast guys. Regardless of speed or goals, it was already worlds more fun than my previous CIM experiences because of all the friends. Also, the lack of rain and wind helped.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wXx75DvhhNE/VIftyP2oqKI/AAAAAAAAI5o/Ledp891QhAY/s1600/photo%2B2%2B(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wXx75DvhhNE/VIftyP2oqKI/AAAAAAAAI5o/Ledp891QhAY/s1600/photo%2B2%2B(1).JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Sunrise over the start</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dy1c30eDW70/VIftLZB09nI/AAAAAAAAI5Y/RIJQNRe9kSU/s1600/photo%2B2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dy1c30eDW70/VIftLZB09nI/AAAAAAAAI5Y/RIJQNRe9kSU/s1600/photo%2B2.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>At the start with Helen</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-orSq9NV1gtA/VIftUKXVkWI/AAAAAAAAI5g/WPMZjQHPBsc/s1600/photo%2B3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-orSq9NV1gtA/VIftUKXVkWI/AAAAAAAAI5g/WPMZjQHPBsc/s1600/photo%2B3.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Chris and Chaz ready to go!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Running a 3:10 marathon meant holding a 7:15 average pace per mile. I told myself that if it felt too hard, I would slow down by mile three. At mile two, I already knew it was too fast.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I ran with Chris and Chaz, and soon we came up behind Jenelle.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Hey, what are you doing up here?” I demanded. “I thought you were only planning on running 3:30!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Well,” she breathed, “I plan on running fast now and then blowing up.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Oh good!” I cheered. “Then you can pace me through the first 20 miles.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mile three came and went and I was still admonishing myself to slow down.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“By my own rules of pacing,” I told Chris, “I am definitely working too hard right now.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Part of the problem was that I was running with friends. It’s so hard to slow down when it means letting your running partners go. Finally I bid them farewell as I ran off toward a bank of port-a-potties. I used my need to pee as a way to force myself to let them go. Upon reemerging 15 seconds later, I toned it down to about a 7:20 pace.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then, running by myself, the day went by in a blur of images:</span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> <span style="font-style: italic;">watch still says 7:18 average; funny sign says </span><i>“Smile if you’re not wearing underwear!” and I had to smile; there’s Carrie!; watch says 7:20 now, good; there’s Jen!; there’s J.P. and Avian!; funny sign says “Great Job, Random Person!”</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pS15zc6wVwc/VIful_MFARI/AAAAAAAAI50/zTjb0hRyow0/s1600/10383574_10205814974842877_4118914870183662085_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pS15zc6wVwc/VIful_MFARI/AAAAAAAAI50/zTjb0hRyow0/s1600/10383574_10205814974842877_4118914870183662085_n.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This might be my favorite running photo ever. Clearly taken in the early miles before the pain set in. Perhaps I thought I was the princess in a parade?? Proof that I was having fun! (Photo by Avian Borden)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Around mile 16 I knew it was time to pick up the pace if I wanted to hit 3:10. I will admit, I did not feel great, but I didn’t yet know what would happen. I didn’t feel horrible, and ten miles isn’t all that far to an ultra runner. I choked down my second GU of the race and started working on inching that average pace back down toward 7:15.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I kept scanning the horizon for any sign of Chris or Chaz, and after a few miles I thought I spotted them – Chaz in the highly recognizable gold of the DPMR shirt, and Chris wearing a red shirt and UD running vest. For the next mile or so, I focused on closing the gap.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By the time I came up behind Chris at about mile 18, Chaz had put some space between them.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Chris and I exchanged words of encouragement, and when he asked me how I felt, I shrugged and said, “Like this is going to get real ugly in about two more miles.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xa88YQ8MkDA/VIfvWSi98qI/AAAAAAAAI58/GLov2bU5Id8/s1600/10712537_10204689905360355_8706039603390029747_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xa88YQ8MkDA/VIfvWSi98qI/AAAAAAAAI58/GLov2bU5Id8/s1600/10712537_10204689905360355_8706039603390029747_o.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Either I am about to throw up, or I am trying to yell something really witty to Carrie. (Photo by Carrie Hyatt)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I couldn’t deny it at that point, but I could still try to hang on for as long as possible. Chris seemed to be feeling similarly, and he didn’t make an attempt to go with me as I turned my focus toward catching Chaz.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Even though he appeared to be right in front of me, it took me forever to catch him. Miles. Days. I don’t even know. Finally, I was close enough to say hello.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Unfortunately, I think the push to catch Chaz was my last hurrah. He asked how Chris was, and I said I’d just passed him. Then I remembered that it had been days since I had seen Chris. I was completely delirious, all sense of time and judgment gone. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It appeared that I had passed Chaz, but in reality I knew he was right behind me. I kept waiting for him to pull ahead because, seriously, if he was going slower than I was, then he was in a world of hurt. </span><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">C’mon, Chaz!</span></i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> He finally went by me somewhere around mile 22. Sweet, maybe one of us could still pull off a 3:10!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I would say mile 22 is probably where it all fell apart, although I had seen the writing on the walls back when I told Chris it would get ugly. I’ve been too chicken to look at the splits from my Garmin, but I can tell you that my average pace started to plummet with about four miles to go. God I felt awful. So awful.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And the hard part about trying to run a PR and falling short is that “second fastest marathon ever” doesn’t really feel like enough incentive to keep going. Like, once I saw that I would miss my PR, I pretty much just wanted to walk it in. Because, dear lord, did I mention it hurt? Ugh.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I heard a fan cheer for the 3:15 pace group, I wanted to cry. Instead, I swore aloud. I was going backwards. They passed me like a thunderous train, on their way to marathon glory. The only reason I could come up with not to walk now was that it would just make the pain last longer. Even my pathetic jog would at least get me to the finish line sooner than walking would.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My friend Tim told me later that he had passed me somewhere around here but refrained from saying hi since we were both clearly dying - confirmation that my inner pain and horror were evident to all. Eric Toschi cheered for me from the sidelines around mile 24, and although I tried to smile my thanks, I feel certain it was more of a grimace that said </span><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh God, two more miles, no, I can’t do it, kill me now, please!!</span></i><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You know it’s bad when you look down at your watch to see how far you have to go and realize you haven’t even gone a tenth of a mile since the last time you looked. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Finally, the finish line was there. I was done. Curt and Chaz were waiting with congratulations, and I was never so happy. Woo Hoo! Finished! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I hurt. L</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">ike, a lot. But it was so fun to have friends at the finish. (And the leg spasms only lasted about 10 minutes – nothing compared to after Way Too Cool last year!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After a couple minutes, Chris crossed the line and we all celebrated together. Somehow, the pain of the final 30 minutes of racing, seemed a fleeting memory. I was so happy to be at the finish line, I really didn’t mind being five minutes shy of my PR and seven minutes short of my 3:10 goal. Rena Lantz, whom I ran into later, told me that she basically ran the time she deserved, which I thought was a great way of putting it. I would have loved to run 3:10, but in truth, I deserved 3:17.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Somehow I missed all of my other friends finishes, even though I am sure I was standing right there when Helen crossed in sub-4. Perhaps I was still delirious.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After the race, Tyler had a bunch of us back to her place for beer and pizza. Except for our two pace group leaders, we had all come up short of our goals, but you would never have known it to hear the chatter at Tyler’s house. Everyone was in good spirits (I suppose the Lagunitas didn’t hurt.), and we talked excitedly of adventure running destinations for next year.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One thing that marathons have in common with ultras – it’s pretty easy to forget all the pain once you’re done running! I can’t say I plan on signing up for CIM next year, but I might just follow the crowd again and see what my friends are doing. It’s a plan that certainly worked for me this year.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Congrats to all the finishers, and a huge shout out out to everyone who shared training miles with me - both on the road and online. The support of friends was definitely the highlight of the weekend.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-971219939751073512014-12-04T12:40:00.002-08:002014-12-04T12:40:44.050-08:00Western States, Hardrock, CIM, Oh My!<div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s Saturday morning, 8:30 AM, and the Placer High School auditorium is packed with skinny people chatting excitedly to each other. On stage, a handful of people sporting silver belt buckles double check their laptops, paperwork, and the functionality of the PA system. It’s probably the best non-running running event of the year: <a href="http://wser.org/lottery2015.html" target="_blank">Western States lottery day</a>!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I’m crammed in the seats with friends, iPhone in hand, keeping a close eye on the Twitter feed of @<a href="http://hardrock100.com/" target="_blank">Hardrock100</a>, where they’re updating the results of their own lottery. Occasionally I flip over to check on <a href="http://www.irunfar.com/2014/12/2014-the-north-face-50-mile-championships-live-coverage.html" target="_blank">iRunFar's coverage of the TNF 50</a> where Rob Krar and Magda Boulet are already churning up the mud out front. Jamie is sitting next to me, constantly clutching my arm, the suspense of the whole day causing her to bounce constantly in her seat. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Both Jamie and I are in both lotteries. Certainly, the chances of either of us getting chosen for either race are slim. But who cares? The electric air of possibility fills the room. We’re not out of the running yet!</span><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know this scene will be pretty accurate for the first part of our morning (well, except for who's in the lead at TNF, but that's my prediction), but how the lottery results will play out is obviously unknown. (According to <a href="http://brotherpine.blogspot.com/2014/12/hardrock-2015-odds.html?m=1" target="_blank">this guy</a>, I have a 29% chance of getting into Hardrock! <a href="http://hardrock100.com/2015odds-else.txt" target="_blank">Information on the Hardrock site says 25.6%</a>. Regardless, either is better than the 9% chance I have of getting into States.) I know that some of my friends will get chosen in each lottery (maybe some in both!), and that I will be pretty darn excited for them. I also know that I will not be disappointed to walk away empty handed myself. I certainly go into the endeavor hopeful because that’s part of the fun, but with the odds so slim, I like to keep my actual expectations realistic. I’ve already made my plans for what I’d like to run should I get into neither Western States nor Hardrock, and I’m aware that’s the most likely scenario.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The only thing I really want to avoid is any of the whiners. I don't mean the people who feel disappointed - that's fair enough. I mean the people who are always bitter and pissy because they didn’t get chosen. I think (hope!) most people are over this by now and have accepted the reality of the situation. But there’s always someone! Someone who thinks the rules are unfair and aren’t afraid to let you know. I want to slap these people and tell them to get a grip, but what I really want to do is simply not talk to them at all. Take it somewhere else if you’re going to bitch and moan. Lottery day is for fun!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">~</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I also have a great distraction from the probability that I won't win a lottery on Saturday – Sunday I will be joining many friends at the <a href="http://runcim.org/" target="_blank">California International Marathon</a>!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ve run CIM twice before, and neither was an amazing experience. The first time, in 2001, I drove from Truckee through a horrendous blizzard, ran injured through hurricane-force wind and rain to my slowest road marathon time ever, and spent five hours driving home through an even worse blizzard. Thank God I had Charlie to run the race with and Andrew to drive the car. At least we have good stories to share with each other!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The second time was in 2009. I remember I was freezing during the race, and I had to drive home through another blizzard, this time by myself. The most memorable part of the weekend was that I had my first experience peeing in a water bottle in my own car. Fun! Right? At a dead stop on I-80 for over an hour with the snow gathering fast and thick around us, and of course I had to pee desperately. Thank god I had a wide-mouth Nalgene rolling around in my backseat, and the snow covered windows provided plenty of privacy. Still, the awkwardness of trying to squat with my marathon-tired legs and the steering wheel in the way made me certain I would pee all over my car seat. I didn’t! Thus, I considered the weekend a reasonable success.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-COu3W2eQUyc/VIC8cIKcbSI/AAAAAAAAIp8/iDvieNhqmbc/s1600/snowy%2BCIM%2B2009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-COu3W2eQUyc/VIC8cIKcbSI/AAAAAAAAIp8/iDvieNhqmbc/s1600/snowy%2BCIM%2B2009.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Home safe after CIM 2009. Praying for a non-snowy drive this year!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I truly hope that the third time’s the charm for this race. So far, Sunday looks like the only non-rainy day in the forecast, so I am keeping my fingers crossed. As usual, I’ve had some really strong individual workouts, but not a lot of consistency in my training. I know I’m in pretty good shape, but it’s hard to tell if my goal of running a PR is realistic. I ran <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-eugene-marathon.html" target="_blank">3:11:42 at Eugene in 2013</a>, with a pretty significant negative split, and I recall it feeling almost easy. (Memory is funny that way, isn’t it? Kind of like how after I finished <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-magic-and-madness-of-hardrock-100.html" target="_blank">Hardrock in 2012</a>, I said I would never run it again!) I don’t know if I’m in quite the same shape I was in at Eugene, but I’m setting my sights on 3:10 anyway. I guess we’ll see what happens!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The fun part about CIM this year is that I know so many people running the race. This is a big change from my last two experiences there. I feel happy and reassured that regardless of how fast or slow I run, I know I will have fun with my friends.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In fact, that thought sums up the entire weekend nicely. Things may or may not go as each of us hope, but whatever happens, we will all be there to support each other and share time together (and maybe even a few beers, too).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Looking forward to the weekend and to seeing you all out there! Good luck, everyone, and have fun!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-25773133839234924402014-11-24T08:47:00.000-08:002014-11-24T08:47:25.537-08:00A Runner's Thanksgiving Holiday Survival Guide<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Author's note: The following article was originally published Nov. 21 in the Sierra Sun.</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UQTz3H5BuQI/VHNfqJOD5EI/AAAAAAAAInM/eCSP7jhp10A/s1600/IMG_1363-EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UQTz3H5BuQI/VHNfqJOD5EI/AAAAAAAAInM/eCSP7jhp10A/s1600/IMG_1363-EFFECTS.jpg" height="476" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Fall colors on the PCT at Donner Pass</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Another Thanksgiving, and your Aunt Marge’s house is already filled with the smell of turkey and pie and the sounds of squealing children, boisterous relatives, and football games on TV.&nbsp;</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">By 3:00 you’ve had your first glass of wine and an unknown number of Triscuits with some weird cream cheese spread.&nbsp; </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">You’re hiding in the kitchen trying to avoid a cousin who wants to do nothing but talk politics when Grandma corners you to inquire why you still don’t have kids and don’t you think you’re getting a bit old and tick-tock. When you finally sit down with a mountainous plate of potatoes, turkey, stuffing, and green bean casserole to accompany a third glass of wine, you realize you’re already exhausted and not even very hungry. At the end of the evening you’re painfully full, incapable of any more polite chit chat, and profoundly intoxicated. You beg your husband to drive and roll out the door, falling asleep on the ride home.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">How are you ever going to make it through the holidays?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">While I do hope that description doesn’t capture your Thanksgiving <i>exactly</i>, there is very likely at least one element of truth in there for most of us. I love the holidays, but all the excessive eating and drinking makes me feel fat and grumpy. For athletes, it can be an especially challenging time, what with trying to maintain training during a busy schedule while simultaneously avoiding too many See’s chocolates. So, here is some advice for getting through Thanksgiving, and the holidays beyond, with your sanity and your training schedule, if not fully intact, at least not completely obliterated.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When it comes to squeezing maximum workouts into a minimum of time, I suggest modifying your run instead of skipping it. If you nip out for an easy three miles Thanksgiving morning instead of bailing on your workout because you’re too busy, you will be in a better mood to socialize and carry less guilt when you can’t resist that second piece of pie. The same holds true for Friday’s workout. You don’t have to do anything high quality, but nothing cures a hangover like sweating it out on a run. (Not that I would know.) Save high quality workouts for Saturday and Sunday.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If at all possible, try not to overeat. I mean, do as I say, not as I do. If I’m not sprawled on the sofa in pain at the end of Thanksgiving with the top button on my pants undone, I consider it a major accomplishment. But if you have even a modicum of self-control, you can probably avoid this situation. Just remember that you don’t have to taste <i>everything</i> on the table. It all pretty much tastes the same as last year, right? Try to skip a few items, and keep your mountain of potatoes to a mole hill. Also, save room for dessert. I mean, you’re going to eat it regardless, but you’ll be happier if there’s room.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You can also be the instigator for a little more physical activity. Try gathering family and friends for a friendly game of flag football instead of watching sports on TV. More time spent running around on the grass means less time drinking beer! If you suck at football like I do, you may want to push for capture the flag or ultimate Frisbee. I’ve found that those games often favor distance runners in the second half. Most people seem to get really tired, and that’s when good endurance can make up for poor sprinting and crappy hand-eye coordination.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Even if you’re not training for anything specific, it is truly helpful to maintain something of an exercise routine through the holidays. You’ll stay a bit fitter, feel less guilty, and be in a better mood. Plus, a long run is a great way to avoid everything when obligations just become too much.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-40485890093143288892014-11-21T09:12:00.000-08:002014-11-21T09:12:18.959-08:00The Savvy Trail Traveler<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Author's Note: Because I don't seem to be writing a whole lot of other things at the moment, I've decided to republish some articles here from my Sierra Sun column. The following article was published in the Sun on November 7th, and republished in the November 13-19 edition of the Lake Tahoe Action.</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kjHAsnCVNeM/VG9ySzNTcDI/AAAAAAAAIm8/UCDgXT0ny30/s1600/IMG_1236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kjHAsnCVNeM/VG9ySzNTcDI/AAAAAAAAIm8/UCDgXT0ny30/s1600/IMG_1236.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>The Savvy Trail Traveler</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The last several weeks have offered up some incredible trail running conditions here in the Truckee-Tahoe region. Few crowds mean you will often get even popular trails all to yourself. (Hello, Judah Loop!) Cooler temperatures mean you can run farther without the need to carry water. And, fluctuating weather systems mean you are equally likely to be dazzled by late fall colors as by ice-covered trees and fresh snow. While I would deem these conditions to be perfect, it is also a great time of year to review some safety principles for being out on the trails.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Know where you’re going.</b> This doesn’t mean you should only follow routes that you have travelled before. If you’re headed down an unknown trail, you simply need to do your research. Find out the mileage and what type of terrain you’ll be travelling. Be sure to carry a map! Check the conditions as much as possible before you head out, including the weather forecast. Some trails are in perfect shape this time of year, while others are already buried under snow. Although often times travel over snowy terrain is still possible (and even enjoyable!), it is typically slower, and can present navigational challenges. An area that you know like the back of your hand in summer can be completely foreign territory under a mere 4 inches of snow. Social media is a very effective way to learn about current conditions on local trails. One final tip about your route: Be sure to let someone at home know your plans. This is extremely important in the event that you get lost or need help.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Bring a friend.</b>Depending on where you’re headed, the conditions, and the forecast, sometimes running with a friend can provide an important safety benefit. If you plan to run farther than usual on unknown terrain, having one or more friends can be helpful in the event that something goes wrong, like an injury. Moving over challenging terrain is often made more fun with good company, as well. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Bring the right gear.</b>First and foremost, this means dressing appropriately for the weather. It feels very much like tights, jacket, hat, and gloves weather already! Even on those days that start out balmy, it’s a good idea to bring one or more extra layers if you’re going to be out for more than an hour or so. Some other items to consider, depending on your distance – water bottle, snacks, phone, GPS, and a map. <i>A note about music</i> – I personally am not a fan of music on the trail for a few reasons, not the least of which is that your safety is compromised when you can’t hear what’s going on around you. If you can’t live without your iPod, please follow the “one ear-bud only” rule!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Know and follow the local regulations.</b> Some areas, like Desolation Wilderness, require you to register at the trailhead and carry a permit before entering. No matter where you run, you need to practice Leave No Trace principles. That’s more of an ethical tip than a safety tip, but important nonetheless. Plus, avoiding practices that attract wildlife will certainly help everyone’s safety in the long run!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Whether you’re headed to the Emigrant Trail, or still trying to squeeze those last days out of an already snowy high country, keeping safety in mind will ensure that everyone’s wilderness experience is as fun as possible!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-71638121372451742462014-10-02T21:30:00.000-07:002014-10-02T21:30:36.776-07:00Summer Summary<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's raining in Truckee!! Hallelujah. (Okay, it was raining when I started this post. That was last weekend. But the sentiment is the same.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm not just grateful for rain because of this insidious drought, but also because of that nasty King Fire. The smoke in Tahoe has been stifling the last two weeks, and folks down the hill have had to evacuate.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Fall feels a bit in the air, and with that happy fact, I am reminded to make my usual summer wrap-up post. I may be a complete bloggging slacker, but at least I have my traditions.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Unfortunately, the short summary for this summer goes like this:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was completely shitty.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">An accurate and succinct summary, if a bit lacking on details. But truthfully, I'm tired of giving the details.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Last weekend, my husband and I visited with some friends we hadn't seen in four or five months. I came straight out and told the wife in the couple that I was tired of updating people on the upsetting events of my life, so could we just skip the "What's been happening in your life?" question?&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She replied, "Let's just talk about trail running!"</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now <i>that</i> is a good friend.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So for this post, I'm going to skip all the shitty parts. I can't ignore them, but I guess I don't have to relive them here. Instead, I thought I would take this opportunity to focus on all the awesome parts of this summer.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Because you know what? Even among all the challenges - the feelings of betrayal, the injustices, the immense grief - there were still some pretty awesome things that happened this summer. Reminding myself of these things is one good way of dealing with the challenges - keeping perspective, and realizing that even a shit sandwich doesn't taste as bad when you're sitting by a mountain lake with a cocktail in hand. (Okay, I'm sorry, I will stop swearing now. Terribly embarrassing, my crassness.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So. Awesome parts of this summer, in chronological order:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u>Hangin' at Western States</u></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For the first time in several years, I was neither volunteer, runner, nor pacer. I thoroughly enjoyed geeking out as a fan.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ASRoF1ioQac/VCuUlWrHxrI/AAAAAAAAICc/255VRt45xSg/s1600/IMG_0857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ASRoF1ioQac/VCuUlWrHxrI/AAAAAAAAICc/255VRt45xSg/s1600/IMG_0857.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Gary Gellin nears the top of the Escarpment.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And the finish line especially. Always a social, and very emotional place to spend time.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xvA2dqfNg2I/VCuUlXhYC6I/AAAAAAAAICc/ayYAWC4g3QM/s1600/IMG_0909.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xvA2dqfNg2I/VCuUlXhYC6I/AAAAAAAAICc/ayYAWC4g3QM/s1600/IMG_0909.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Trent girls await the leader at Placer High.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SusuJtQna08/VCuVpKRvizI/AAAAAAAAICk/LtIRmHfF99M/s1600/IMG_0903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SusuJtQna08/VCuVpKRvizI/AAAAAAAAICk/LtIRmHfF99M/s1600/IMG_0903.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>See what I mean about emotions? (Pictured: Rob Krar)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w6j2jDKNt5g/VCuVpJrNXiI/AAAAAAAAICk/mPYomG8d20s/s1600/IMG_0931.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w6j2jDKNt5g/VCuVpJrNXiI/AAAAAAAAICk/mPYomG8d20s/s1600/IMG_0931.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>More emotions! Yay! (Pictured: Max King)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u>Fourth of July!</u></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The fourth is always awesome in Truckee, and this year was no different. Good friends, perfect weather, parades, swimming, barbecues, bike rides, tubing down the river. Fun!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iPok9u0UjSA/VCuUlfSqk0I/AAAAAAAAICc/WlfL6EzXQWY/s1600/IMG_0966.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iPok9u0UjSA/VCuUlfSqk0I/AAAAAAAAICc/WlfL6EzXQWY/s1600/IMG_0966.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Dream Team at the Truckee Parade.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u>Family Visits</u></span><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5j6zLv0K40g/VCuXVBLBA4I/AAAAAAAAICw/Z91U20NenDQ/s1600/IMG_1034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5j6zLv0K40g/VCuXVBLBA4I/AAAAAAAAICw/Z91U20NenDQ/s1600/IMG_1034.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Fishing day with the boys!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8RQycExmJ0Y/VCuXVEVvI1I/AAAAAAAAICw/0yd0Wkt8-ps/s1600/IMG_1027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8RQycExmJ0Y/VCuXVEVvI1I/AAAAAAAAICw/0yd0Wkt8-ps/s1600/IMG_1027.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Game time: "I am a Pig." "I am a Camel." (Not the most flattering pic, but certainly the funniest!)</i></span><br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: blue; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u><br /></u></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u>TRT 50K</u></span><br /><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Due to the fact that I spent most of June and the first part of July injured, I dropped down from the 50M distance I'd signed up for and ran the 50K (actually 55K) at <a href="http://www.tahoemtnmilers.org/trt-endurance-runs.html" target="_blank">TRT </a>for the first time since 2003. Oh wow! I think I like the 50K. No Diamond Peak climb, and it's over so fast! Plus, I won. Total bonus.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I will tell you that staying up all night to volunteer at the Tunnel Creek AS is much easier with only 55K on your legs vs. 50M. Just as much fun though!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aAWuX9xcn6A/VC3rrFHqWSI/AAAAAAAAIDI/uMfeLBZdzck/s1600/IMG_1023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aAWuX9xcn6A/VC3rrFHqWSI/AAAAAAAAIDI/uMfeLBZdzck/s1600/IMG_1023.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Pre-race with the RD</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u><a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2014/07/a-lap-around-lake-173-miles-on-tahoe.html" target="_blank">TRT 173</a></u></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It seems like a lot of my adventures involve the Tahoe Rim Trail, but this one was truly unique. Five runners, four days, and 173 miles of jaw-dropping scenery.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I don't want to say too much about this one, since I SWEAR I AM GOING TO WRITE A REAL POST ABOUT IT. I promise. I am.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But the summary is that it kind of turned out to be the gem of the summer. Two of our really big challenges were already upon me and my husband, and a third was just hitting the fan when this adventure began. I didn't know if I should even be out there on the trail for so many reasons, but it turned out to be the best decision I could have made.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am massively grateful for the friends who put in all of the work to plan this adventure and who turned out to be amazing people with whom to share the trail!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ql8E5nBvIKg/VC3s1RPMeuI/AAAAAAAAIDQ/Avuom9d16rk/s1600/IMG_1075.JPG" height="400" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>173 Miles that looked something like this</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ql8E5nBvIKg/VC3s1RPMeuI/AAAAAAAAIDQ/Avuom9d16rk/s1600/IMG_1075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i8wAqVU_sl0/VC3s1TQPr9I/AAAAAAAAIDQ/OYFJzTkAbzI/s1600/IMG_1124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i8wAqVU_sl0/VC3s1TQPr9I/AAAAAAAAIDQ/OYFJzTkAbzI/s1600/IMG_1124.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Triumphant at the end of our journey: Me, Chris, Tyler, Curt, and Joe. (And Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u>A New Kitchen</u></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is another one that I am not going to give all the details on because I really want to do a full post with before and after pictures. There was quite a process, and it looks amazing, but of course, it's still not done. (Started in April, why would we be done by October?) As soon as the back splash and trim are in, there will be lots of pictures! Pinky swear.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ezeBDt-hStY/VC3ttwjiv-I/AAAAAAAAIDc/wcj0HH9k4Rc/s1600/IMG_1213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ezeBDt-hStY/VC3ttwjiv-I/AAAAAAAAIDc/wcj0HH9k4Rc/s1600/IMG_1213.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Here's Andrew on concrete day. This doesn't show you anything about our kitchen, does it? But just wait until you see the killer concrete counter tops he made me!!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u><br /></u></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u>Other Adventures</u></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of course there were plenty of beautiful trail miles shared with friends, (several times getting caught out in hail and lightning), and other "daily" adventures. In completely non-chronological order:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Hoover Wilderness and Yosemite with Jamie:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--G5imAuoPlM/VC4TaDDCNjI/AAAAAAAAIJQ/T69rBRIRzaA/s1600/IMG_1240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--G5imAuoPlM/VC4TaDDCNjI/AAAAAAAAIJQ/T69rBRIRzaA/s1600/IMG_1240.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Jamie</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-peOdn8TfKCg/VC4TaIKPBzI/AAAAAAAAIJQ/uPYNdia65Ao/s1600/IMG_1228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-peOdn8TfKCg/VC4TaIKPBzI/AAAAAAAAIJQ/uPYNdia65Ao/s1600/IMG_1228.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Happy in the mountains</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iCKZ65i7kRs/VC4TaC7CrUI/AAAAAAAAIJQ/rgicRlcht3Y/s1600/IMG_1229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iCKZ65i7kRs/VC4TaC7CrUI/AAAAAAAAIJQ/rgicRlcht3Y/s1600/IMG_1229.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Alpine lake in the Hoover Wilderness</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Running near home:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5G0fBGiBXqw/VC4TaOYMY7I/AAAAAAAAIJQ/6TbV7ipxw50/s1600/IMG_1189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5G0fBGiBXqw/VC4TaOYMY7I/AAAAAAAAIJQ/6TbV7ipxw50/s1600/IMG_1189.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Castle Peak, Donner Summit</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7Zc-aFC1hE4/VC4TaNof2hI/AAAAAAAAIJQ/Zae1ZDRKzVo/s1600/IMG_1179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7Zc-aFC1hE4/VC4TaNof2hI/AAAAAAAAIJQ/Zae1ZDRKzVo/s1600/IMG_1179.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Desolation Wilderness with Betsy</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mdW4DYfrEoY/VC4TaJAc45I/AAAAAAAAIJQ/ZzAONsJULp0/s1600/IMG_1011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mdW4DYfrEoY/VC4TaJAc45I/AAAAAAAAIJQ/ZzAONsJULp0/s1600/IMG_1011.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Aloha Lake/Desolation Wilderness with Jamie and Caren</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E0eYpT3gUhU/VC4TaA8NrKI/AAAAAAAAIJQ/HJ5Px1pmAGE/s1600/IMG_1164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E0eYpT3gUhU/VC4TaA8NrKI/AAAAAAAAIJQ/HJ5Px1pmAGE/s1600/IMG_1164.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Jason's wedding with the college track crew (no running involved).</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /><br /><br />I know this was mostly a post in pictures. I don't have a lot of words these days. Honestly though, I'm hoping to find some. I miss writing.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Last summer, my sister declared it to be <i>The Summer of Joy</i>. We did so many wonderful things with family, knowing that with my mom's ALS diagnosis, it would be the last summer with her in good health. It truly was wonderful - three full months of family time up and down the coast.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This one was declared <i>The Summer of Sadness</i>. Aptly named, and thankfully in the rearview mirror.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My sister has already&nbsp;declared next summer to be <i>The Summer of Healing.</i> I'm assuming that means more family trips, and I'm all for that! In fact, I'm pretty much ready for summer right now.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-41408153150649656802014-07-28T22:24:00.000-07:002014-07-28T22:24:11.252-07:00A Lap Around the Lake: 173 Miles on the Tahoe Rim Trail<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SOsK2DKtnzs/U9css0WGPmI/AAAAAAAAHJA/mGak3zXjWjs/s1600/DSCF0591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SOsK2DKtnzs/U9css0WGPmI/AAAAAAAAHJA/mGak3zXjWjs/s1600/DSCF0591.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br />It's hard to believe that I've lived in Truckee for 14 years as a runner, and I've still only been on about 70% of the Tahoe Rim Trail. What on Earth have I been doing?<br /><br />Well, that's all about to change.<br /><br />On Wednesday, I'll be starting a circumnavigation of the lake, running the entire Tahoe Rim Trail, with a small group of intrepid ultrarunners. Unlike so many people I know, we will NOT be doing this all in one push. (There's crazy, and then there's idiotic, right?)<br /><br />Our relatively civilized schedule will still be quite a challenge for me. An injury after <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2014/06/san-diego-100.html" target="_blank">San Diego 100</a> left me with zero miles for 2 1/2 weeks, and with about 40 miles total for the following 2 1/2 weeks. The only thing giving me confidence now is the absence of injury, and a decent showing at last week's <a href="http://ultrasignup.com/results_event.aspx?did=24111" target="_blank">TRT 55K</a>. That 33 miles left me mighty sore, which is worrisome, but feeling that I have enough fitness left to get around the lake in four days.<br /><br />Considering how in doubt this adventure was for me three weeks ago, I am immensely excited to be setting out on the trail.<br /><br />Here's our itinerary:<br /><br /><b>Day 1: </b>(52 miles) <b><i>Echo Summit to Tahoe City </i></b>- This one's going to be a doozie. Both beautiful and challenging. Thank God we're doing it on fresh legs.<br /><br /><b>Day 2: </b>(40.2 miles) <b><i>Tahoe City to Tahoe Meadows </i></b>- Easier terrain to start, which will be helpful for sore legs. Summit the high point of the trail, Relay Peak, near the end of the day.<br /><br /><b>Day 3: </b>(41.6 miles) <b><i>Tahoe Meadows to Kingsbury - </i></b>Much of this trail covers the beautiful course of the TRT Endurance Runs. Excellent views, a decent amount of runnable terrain.<br /><br /><b>Day 4: </b>(38.5 miles) <b><i>Kingsbury to Echo Summit </i></b>- This is the section I haven't run before. Hopefully I am not too exhausted to enjoy it!<br /><br />As one of my running companions, Chris, said, we'll be enjoying hotels and IPA's each night. Honestly, I anticipate being too tired to enjoy much at night but the shower and a decent night's sleep, but I have no complaints about that.<br /><br />I am so grateful for my friends who did all of the planning (Honestly, I just saw a random Facebook post, and jumped onboard their trip.), and for their friends and family who are doing the crewing. This is sure to be an ass-kicking adventure, and those are just the kind I like.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dbDt4cHon5k/U9cuVgTfW4I/AAAAAAAAHJI/SzdZbKG4cPQ/s1600/DSCN0206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dbDt4cHon5k/U9cuVgTfW4I/AAAAAAAAHJI/SzdZbKG4cPQ/s1600/DSCN0206.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br />Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-37773494831791483322014-06-17T15:22:00.002-07:002014-06-17T15:22:28.396-07:00San Diego 100<div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lpQuZtiqg04/U54ZiQBQozI/AAAAAAAAGbA/8GoJfctBKUw/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+2" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lpQuZtiqg04/U54ZiQBQozI/AAAAAAAAGbA/8GoJfctBKUw/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+2" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>With Sister/CrewMaster, at Lake Cuyamaca</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Contrary to <a href="http://karlmeltzer.com/" target="_blank">popular ultrarunner sentiment</a>, I have to inform you that 100 miles really <i>is</i> that far. Which leads me to wonder, as so many people do, why I want to run it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I generally have pat answers for this inevitable question: It keeps me sane, It’s my form of relaxation, It gives me focus, It allows me to eat more ice cream.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These answers, however, while true enough, only answer the question of why I run ultras. Fifty miles, 50K, 100K – all of these, I will grant you, are actually not that far. Sure, they’re not easy. They require training. But once you’ve done them, going back is not especially scary.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One hundred miles? That will always be scary.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is exactly what I was thinking at mile 91 of the <a href="http://www.sandiego100.com/" target="_blank">San Diego 100</a>, as I grunted my way up a technical climb. (Another thought was – Seriously, who routes a course over a brutal mountain at mile 91? Masochists! All of these people!) With a handful of hundred milers under my belt, I would have thought they would get easier. But they just never do.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Something else presenting a particular challenge for me was the time of year of this race. Advice to school teachers: Don’t choose a 100 miler that falls during the last week of school. Not only does the school year get increasingly crazy-busy as it nears its end, but I also picked up a last minute gig as head track coach this spring. Coaching track takes a massive amount of time! I had no idea.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, training? Yeah, May was not my best month. There simply wasn’t time. My only saving grace was that I had jumped into the <a href="http://insidetrail.com/ai1ec_event/bishop-high-sierra/?instance_id=" target="_blank">Bishop 100K</a>three weeks prior to San Diego, and it had functioned as an excellent training run. I would have to rely on that, and the fact that March and April had been acceptably decent months for training.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Friday morning, the day before the race, I headed off to work in a sundress and heels for eighth-grade graduation. Did I mention this was a poor weekend for a 100 miler? My last student had barely finished giving her speech when I was out the door. <i>Sorry, kids, no congratulatory hugs. My flight leaves in 45 minutes!</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This was where my crew/pacer team already started earning their status as rock stars. My sister Laura was making the drive down from Pasadena with all of our gear. Oh yes, we would be camping, lakefront, at the start/finish line. An excellent choice if you’re not trying to jump on a plane with just a carry-on, or if you have a generous sister with tons of camping gear. Jamie, who was flying down from Sacramento, also had many extra race day needs tucked into her checked bags. So, luckily, the three gels that I could squeeze into my liquids bag in my carry-on didn’t have to last me the full 100 miles.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bacUlwpBcCU/U6CnAUWaZSI/AAAAAAAAGqU/sXwtdle-T28/s1600/IMG_0779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bacUlwpBcCU/U6CnAUWaZSI/AAAAAAAAGqU/sXwtdle-T28/s1600/IMG_0779.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Laura and Jamie, rock star crew extraordinaire, at our camp.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Laura picked us up from the airport in San Diego, and we made our way east to Lake Cuyamaca in plenty of time to set up camp before the pre-race briefing. Most pre-race briefings are also a little party – an excuse for everyone to gather and socialize before heading off down the dusty trail. This one was no different, and it was especially fun to have so many friends present. There was a solid contingent from Reno, plus a few friends from the other side of the hill.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sWM7HWjothU/U6CKGKbu8iI/AAAAAAAAGn4/F95LdJ_nL-o/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sWM7HWjothU/U6CKGKbu8iI/AAAAAAAAGn4/F95LdJ_nL-o/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+1" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Jenny and Mariam</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ncnIgZI-zuI/U6CKGH56EVI/AAAAAAAAGqA/m_1V2zKKCuc/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+5" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ncnIgZI-zuI/U6CKGH56EVI/AAAAAAAAGqA/m_1V2zKKCuc/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+5" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Dream Team</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IvzbKPd9KPs/U6CKGAcfkeI/AAAAAAAAGoE/wtWoVfRS7ow/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+26" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IvzbKPd9KPs/U6CKGAcfkeI/AAAAAAAAGoE/wtWoVfRS7ow/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+26" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">With JT at check-in</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span id="goog_129712358"></span><span id="goog_129712359"></span><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was chatting up my dear friend John Trent, busily explaining how my training had been less than what I’d hoped for, so my goals were correspondingly conservative. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I’m hoping for sub-24,” he confided.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Really?” My eyes widened. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I didn’t doubt John’s goal was possible. It’s just that, in addition to a lack of training, I’d done a lack of homework. I had really thought the course was too hard for such times. John and I have shared plenty of race miles though, and our finishing times tend not to be far apart. He definitely got me thinking a bit.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Laura, Jamie, and I slept well that night in our outdoor retreat. I woke up well before my 4:30 alarm though, and took the opportunity to head out to a point jutting into the lake directly before our tent door. I shared a calm, sunrise breakfast with the bats flitting about the lake surface – hard boiled eggs for me, mosquitoes for them. I contemplated the task before me, knowing I was a bit undertrained, but also knowing that fact would compel me to start conservatively. This could only work to my advantage, and I felt confident that I would finish. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, okay. Sort of confident.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KgV50Ijn0HU/U6CKGOu2hdI/AAAAAAAAGqs/NzHQYdCsZuc/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+9" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KgV50Ijn0HU/U6CKGOu2hdI/AAAAAAAAGqs/NzHQYdCsZuc/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+9" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A perfect breakfast spot!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I gathered at the start with my friend Abby and 260 or so others, said hi to Jenny and a few more friends, and soon we were off. I found myself getting a little teary-eyed, and I was surprised. A hundred miles is still epic, no matter how many times you’ve done it, and I hadn’t run this far in a long time. Plus, I think maybe I always cry at the start of 100 milers. Yes, that sounds about right.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yUwaXzUgXJM/U54ZicF5o2I/AAAAAAAAGdg/7Ks8hqbg4HE/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+13" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yUwaXzUgXJM/U54ZicF5o2I/AAAAAAAAGdg/7Ks8hqbg4HE/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+13" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Ready to start!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_0VaaTtn2rI/U54ZiWUCbbI/AAAAAAAAGbo/p45Md47Ke3k/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+12" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_0VaaTtn2rI/U54ZiWUCbbI/AAAAAAAAGbo/p45Md47Ke3k/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+12" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Things started with a fairly mellow climb. There was some walking, but mostly running. I made a few miles with Abby and a few other folks. I got to briefly chat with Erika Lindland before we both had to jump off trail in opposite directions for a pee break. I came back on trail about a hundred yards or so behind Erika and Abby. As much as I really wanted the company of both of these awesome women, I also knew I needed to be careful about trying to stay with them. If I could let them go a little, I would be better able to focus on the pace that was right for me instead of potentially running too fast. As much as I hated to do it, I knew it was the smart choice, and I watched them slowly pull ahead.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iRIXfRn0XCM/U6CKGMRKHfI/AAAAAAAAGpk/jiaSq7RAMKs/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+21" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iRIXfRn0XCM/U6CKGMRKHfI/AAAAAAAAGpk/jiaSq7RAMKs/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+21" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p7lfTVx_10k/U6CKGACmwII/AAAAAAAAGp0/koX5DnJ-x6g/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+22" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p7lfTVx_10k/U6CKGACmwII/AAAAAAAAGp0/koX5DnJ-x6g/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+22" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Next, we climbed up and over Stonewall Mountain. An auspicious name for a mountain, no? Yeah, no. I knew this was the very mountain we would go back over at mile 90, so I paid attention to the terrain. It’s funny how terrain appears so much different when your legs are completely trashed. At this point, I was thinking it wasn’t so bad. Ha!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gNz-NbdqZ1Q/U6CKGIJTRkI/AAAAAAAAGo4/cOPVihdHIC0/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+3" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gNz-NbdqZ1Q/U6CKGIJTRkI/AAAAAAAAGo4/cOPVihdHIC0/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+3" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Heading to Chambers.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The mile 12 aid station at Chambers has a short out and back, and I saw both Abby and Erika on my way in. They were still close, but not close enough to pull me along too fast.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The terrain at this point was open and grassy, with plenty of stickers for your socks, oh joy. It was beautiful though, and quite mellow running. The sun climbed higher into the sky, but it wasn’t yet hot out. I felt great, and reminded myself constantly to keep it mellow.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I ran alone, playing a bit of leapfrog with a couple of men, but mostly seeing few people. This state would hold steady all day until I picked up Jamie at mile 56, and it suited me just fine.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D-MA7u4S3w0/U6CKGD42-VI/AAAAAAAAGqs/KGCN9KyNEwk/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+11" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D-MA7u4S3w0/U6CKGD42-VI/AAAAAAAAGqs/KGCN9KyNEwk/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+11" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was cruising along the PCT now, very runnable terrain. My water consumption increased with the heat of the day, and it appeared I would finally drink more than one bottle full. They had Tailwind at the aid stations, which was awesome, and I had a bottle of that and a bottle of water with me. Mostly though, I had been drinking from the Tailwind bottle.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Suddenly I saw Abby ahead. She must have been struggling a little bit because I caught and passed her almost before I knew it. I actually started passing a number of people through this section. I worried about my pace. My watch said I was too fast, but honestly my body said this pace was just fine. I could still see Erika a few minutes ahead as we neared the Sunrise aid station at mile 23.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sunrise was the first stop for my crew, and they were amazing. Jamie simply handed me a cold V8 without even asking, and I chugged it happily. After eating and refilling my bottles, I put on my arm coolers, tossed a little ice in my sports bra, and I was out of there like a flash.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a6mjF0dyEE4/U54ZiZ6mfiI/AAAAAAAAGdY/id1PYu2a6Lg/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+11" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a6mjF0dyEE4/U54ZiZ6mfiI/AAAAAAAAGdY/id1PYu2a6Lg/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+11" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Still on the PCT, I looked around, trying to see if the terrain looked at all familiar from <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2010/10/epic-adventures-part-ii-pacific-crest.html" target="_blank">my 1996 through-hike</a>. Not really, but then, that was practically a lifetime ago. Plus, I was going the opposite direction.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The day was really heating up, (I heard later that it reached 90F.), and I picked up my ice bandanna at Pioneer Mail (mile 30). My crew, again, was totally dialed with getting me out of there quickly – spraying me with sunscreen, handing me food and drink, etc. I soaked my shirt and my arm coolers and loaded my sports bra and&nbsp;bandanna&nbsp;with ice. By the time&nbsp;I left, I was a walking ice bath and feeling lovely. Was it hot out? I wouldn't know. Felt fine to me!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pVBJfRpNPpU/U54ZiVuFjMI/AAAAAAAAGcw/fC1Kn6DT_Ro/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+9" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pVBJfRpNPpU/U54ZiVuFjMI/AAAAAAAAGcw/fC1Kn6DT_Ro/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+9" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Aid Station Magic</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I managed to maintain my pace with the same effort level while others, it seemed, were slowing down. The entire course so far had been completely exposed – no shade whatsoever – and this would continue to be the case for most of the day. I was glad I’d chosen my <a href="http://www.bigtruckbrand.com/" target="_blank">Big Truck</a> hat which has a generous brim. (Plus, it got me a few "Go Truckee!" cheers from people I didn't even know!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I continued to slowly but steadily pass people as I cruised along, still on the PCT. I was loving this race, managing the heat, and still feeling good. When I got to Penny Pines, I couldn’t believe it had already been nearly 35 miles. I thought about my last 100 miler, <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-magic-and-madness-of-hardrock-100.html" target="_blank">Hardrock</a>, and being 35 miles into that race at the top of Virginus Pass. That had taken me about 12 hours. By contrast, this had taken me less than 7. The miles seemed to be flying! It was kind of making me nervous, actually.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rCvCz_Kei3w/U54ZiR2jMrI/AAAAAAAAGnQ/Go2ySE9_hnM/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+10" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rCvCz_Kei3w/U54ZiR2jMrI/AAAAAAAAGnQ/Go2ySE9_hnM/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+10" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Happy runner!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At Todd’s Cabin, around mile 40, I continued my routine of icing and soaking. A volunteer squeezed ice water from a sponge onto me while I squealed and another volunteer teased him about having too much fun. I just laughed. You didn’t know that ultrarunning was just one big wet t-shirt contest, did you? </span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tg-DdbygxoQ/U6CKGGc0pJI/AAAAAAAAGn4/v_NNwvz_1CY/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+4" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tg-DdbygxoQ/U6CKGGc0pJI/AAAAAAAAGn4/v_NNwvz_1CY/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+4" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Somewhere before the Meadows aid station at mile 51, I saw Scott Mills, the race director, coming towards me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“So, um …” he started gravely. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oh no, the race has been cancelled. Something happened. There’s a huge fire. An attack bear. A freak snow storm.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“We had to reroute the course a little bit because of some vandalism with the course markings, but it’s all been reflagged, and you’ll see where to go.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oh, thank God! The race is still on!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“That’s terrible!” I sympathized. Not to mention it’s a horribly stressful thing for a Race Director to have to deal with.&nbsp; I would see Scott again about six hours later, telling us about another section of vandalized trail. Apparently some mountain bikers were having a field day trying to mess with us. Honestly, what are people even thinking when they do something like that? I just don’t get it.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bwPVnF7OGgc/U6CKGK3dm0I/AAAAAAAAGos/5XmDsKd5o2A/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+8" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bwPVnF7OGgc/U6CKGK3dm0I/AAAAAAAAGos/5XmDsKd5o2A/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+8" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Pine trees! At last, some meager shade.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Jamie joined me for pacing duties at mile 56. I couldn’t believe how fast the day had gone by! Next, we would head down eight miles of technical trail into Noble Canyon. Apparently this was a scorching section last year. Luckily, it came later in the race this year, and we were heading down at dusk. I had already stopped icing and getting wet, knowing that I would need to dry off before the temperature dropped. Even though it was still warm, I was advised by other crews at the aid station that it would get cold fast. I tucked my arm warmers into the back of my sports bra, knowing I could pick up more layers when I would see Laura again at mile 72.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-02D-Fqfq9N8/U54ZiTFy2QI/AAAAAAAAGdw/yJgxtiSoF9k/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+7" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-02D-Fqfq9N8/U54ZiTFy2QI/AAAAAAAAGdw/yJgxtiSoF9k/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+7" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Last shot with sister in the daylight.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BZHbWPOO-2k/U54ZiVnpUTI/AAAAAAAAGdI/IFmV4qICR_g/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+8" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BZHbWPOO-2k/U54ZiVnpUTI/AAAAAAAAGdI/IFmV4qICR_g/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+8" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">My crew is all prepped for my arrival.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The scenery through this section was awesome. The canyon was tight for stretches, with narrow walls following a creek and treating us to hidden glens lush with ferns – little oases in the desert. When it opened up, we were graced with beautiful sunset vistas. I constantly reminded myself to enjoy this beauty because I’ll tell you, that downhill hurt! My legs were finally starting to feel the miles, and I had to take this trail at a slower pace than I would have liked. By the time we reached the aid station at mile 64, food was starting to sound like a pretty terrible idea.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had been an excellent eater all day, eating some solid food at every aid station, plus a lot of Tailwind. I’d taken only one gel up to this point, but it seemed like now I would need to make the switch to more easily digestible calories. I managed a couple spoonfuls of guacamole at the aid station and made sure my pockets were full of gels for the climb back up. I also had a small bite of espresso brownie just because they were homemade and an inspired choice for a mile 64 aid station at the bottom of a long climb.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We began the eight mile climb back up, and I will say that I was happy not to be going downhill anymore. The fading light of day bathed the hillsides in a soft, golden glow, and it was still plenty warm, making this quite an enjoyable section of trail.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We arrived back at Pioneer Mail (mile 72) at about 10:00 for what was to be my final crew stop. I still wasn’t wearing my arm warmers and decided against picking up additional layers. I was actually feeling hot, and if it got cold later, I had a drop bag at Chambers (mile 87). As it turned out, I finally got rid of my arm warmers at Chambers because I had never even put them on.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I sent Laura off to get some sleep until my finish. Although there were other crew accessible aid stations down the trail, I knew I didn’t really need anything that I couldn’t get from the aid stations, and I wanted my sister to get some sleep. She had done an amazing job during the day, and came through big time by bringing all the gear and driving us around. (She would also continue amazing crew duties later by being the primary person to pack up our camp sight and load the car while I languished in exhaustion during the morning heat. Sometimes being a mom never ends!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“So, you might have to look for me at the finish earlier than I had thought,” began my parting words to her. I had told my crew to be prepared for a 10:00 AM finish, which would have been 28 hours. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You’ll probably finish before 6:00, right?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yeah, this may have been her first time crewing an ultra, but she’s no dummy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“That’s what I’m hoping for at this point.” I finally allowed myself to say it out loud. I knew I was slowing down, but I thought I still had a solid shot at sub-24. All day I’d been thinking how insane that was. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Maybe I’m running too fast? How is this possible? I’m just not in that kind of shape!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But now? It was clearly possible.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I set off into the night with Jamie for some long stretches of nothing but starlight. It had been awesome seeing Jamie and Laura at so many aid stations during the day; I’ve never run such a crew-friendly race before! Not only was it a mental boost, but they really helped things happen more quickly, like getting me ice and presenting food that I might want. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nighttime in a 100 miler though is so different. For one, I had Jamie to keep me company, so the mental boost of seeing crew was less necessary. Everything is quieter – the runners are spread out, so you don’t see many people out there, and because the pace is slower and I didn’t feel much like eating, getting through the aid stations was pretty relaxing. I just topped off a little Tailwind, put Gu in my pockets, drank some ginger ale, and tried to eat at least a bit of something. (One of these late aid stations had red finger Jello – brilliant!! I ate three squares after surviving the previous nine miles on ginger ale alone.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I did my best not to slow down too much, and for much of the night Jamie ran in front and set the pace. This isn’t the way we usually do things. Typically we have the runner lead and the pacer follow, because it’s just so dang hard for the pacer to know how fast to run. For us, we primarily just have a pacer for company anyway, not to push us to a faster time. I found, however, that following her was really working for me, and I felt like I was running more than I otherwise would have. She had to constantly look back to see when I slowed or started to walk and adjust her pace accordingly, so I’m sure it wasn’t easy for her. The challenge in this scenario is for the pacer not to get too far ahead. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We watched the desert moon rise and set, gloried in the wide open, star-filled sky, and even enjoyed the wild howls of distant coyotes. There had been much talk of the dangers of this course, rattlesnakes being the one that had me most concerned. (I had a good laugh over the fact that I was more afraid of snakes than of mountain lions, but yes. It’s true.) While we didn’t see any rattlesnakes, (or any bees, which were apparently another hazard), we did have plenty of scorpion encounters. Was there ever a creepier little creature than a scorpion? Eewww!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We spotted our first one when Jamie almost peed right on it. Don’t worry; it escaped, as did she. Several more skittered across the trail as we ran. The biggest one almost chased Jamie right over a cliff. Seriously, that sucker was huge, and it was coming for her. I thought she was going to jump over the side for a second there. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Further disaster was averted when a skunk (with raised tail, no less!) waddled off into the bushes without spraying us near the Chambers aid station. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What do you think is scarier, a skunk or scorpion?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had mentioned multiple times to Jamie how I was so sure all day that John was going to pass me at mile 75. It’s not that I wanted to beat him, not at all. In fact, I would have liked very much to see him and share some miles on the trail with him. It’s just that I was sure he was running a smarter race than I was, and I didn’t want to end this thing regretting my early pace. John was my measuring stick for wise racing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As we neared the Chambers aid station (mile 88), I announced triumphantly, “I would just like to point out that John Trent has not yet passed me!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We both knew this was just a joke, as Jamie is a huge fan of John’s as well, but it gave us the appropriate laugh. As it turned out, there was a long out-and-back section to the Chambers aid station. When I didn’t see John on my way back out, I was a little disappointed. I wondered where he was and how his race was going. Apparently, he was busy having a great race, if just a bit short of his sub-24 goal, running with his awesome daughters Annie and Katie. I have to thank him though for giving me the notion that sub-24 was possible on this course.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then there we were, at mile 90-something, going over that damn Stonewall again. What can I say about this part except that it was brutal. It hurt. It was slow. I saw sub-24 slip away before my very eyes. I landed at the final aid station feeling defeated and flopped down in a chair for the first time in 94 miles. Ginger ale was all I could get down. (I really could have used some red Jello squares!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“So,” one of the volunteers instructed, “you guys are good for sub-24, but you can’t hang around here.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“No,” I argued, my voice deflated, “I don’t have sub-24 in me anymore.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Yes!” he countered. “You’ve got plenty of time; you just have to go do it!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He did the math out loud that I was too brain dead to do, and he convinced me. He described the next section of trail, how it was so much friendlier than Stonewall, and he made me believe. I owe that guy even more thanks than I owe John.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It’s a good thing I really believed, too, because I was hurting. A lot of this course was very runnable, including this last 6 miles, but even the easiest terrain is hard to run with 94 miles on your legs. I’m sure it was a snail’s pace, but I was quite focused on pushing myself. I never truly thought sub-24 was in the bag until we made that last road crossing with 1.4 miles to go. Then, I finally breathed a sigh of relief.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The finish line was extremely quiet, but my sister was there to cheer us in, and that was all that mattered.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Scott Mills, too, was there, and he loaded me down with prizes and swag, including a plaque for being female Masters Champion. (“It’s a mountain lion!” he insisted. Not a cougar. Okay.It's beautiful either way.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6y01au_MKtw/U6C3lydxCnI/AAAAAAAAGrM/jw1yP6RKjy8/s1600/photo+(13).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6y01au_MKtw/U6C3lydxCnI/AAAAAAAAGrM/jw1yP6RKjy8/s1600/photo+(13).JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I finished in 23:33:30, 3<sup>rd</sup> female, and 20<sup>th</sup>overall. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“A lot of ‘3s,’” my sister noted.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3l7ew3R-mOs/U54ZiSPUgBI/AAAAAAAAGbw/a9qflJKR_xA/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+5" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3l7ew3R-mOs/U54ZiSPUgBI/AAAAAAAAGbw/a9qflJKR_xA/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+5" height="272" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Huzzah!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cCKkaTk7kps/U54Zianl8dI/AAAAAAAAGdA/hZW50hJ91d4/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+4" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cCKkaTk7kps/U54Zianl8dI/AAAAAAAAGdA/hZW50hJ91d4/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+4" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh no, Gretchen, you're not a cougar. You're a lion!"</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was immediately ushered to Ultralive TV to be interviewed. Sheesh, it was like celebrity status. You can see my interview <a href="http://www.ultrasportslive.tv/video-gretchen-brugman-san-diego-100-womens-3rd/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We found our way to a glorious coin-op shower at the campground, and then I tried for a nap in the tent. My legs hurt way too much to sleep, in spite of my exhaustion, and by 8:00 I gave it up and headed to the pancake breakfast at the finish line.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Firefighters served up eggs, sausage and pancakes, and I finally eased my leg pain with two Tylenol and a beer. If you think a beer at 8:00 in the morning is bad, you should know that Jamie had her first one before 6:00 AM. That girl is my hero.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Probably my favorite part of an ultra is sitting at the finish with that immense sense of accomplishment, stuffing my face with greasy food, and cheering more runners across the line. I was relieved to be done myself, and so excited for the other runners that I kept crying every time another one crossed the line. The finish line of a 100 miler is a pretty emotional place.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Do all race directors wait at the finish for every runner to cross?” my sister asked, seeing Scott there still greeting each finisher with a medal and belt buckle.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“No,” Jamie said, “just the good ones.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We all agreed that there had to be a fair amount of satisfaction in seeing the runners finish your race, and I know Scott worked so hard to make this happen. He overcame a lot of adversity to make this an incredible experience for us.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For myself, I still have a hard time believing how well things turned out. Everyone I talked to before the race probably thinks I’m the world’s biggest sandbagger, but it truly did not seem reasonable to think I would run nearly this fast. It was also a perfect weekend logistically, with help from two amazing women. It was a beautiful venue for camping and running squeezed into an insanely-busy-but-wonderful time of year. Could it have been more perfect? Probably not.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I owe massive thanks to everyone who made such a great weekend happen – to Scott and all the volunteers (especially the guy at Paso Picacho who convinced me I could still make sub-24), to my dear friend Jamie and sister Laura for taking such good care of me, and to the many friends who made the trip to San Diego for their own racing and crewing. Without this community, running 100 miles would not be nearly as awesome. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’m still not 100% sure why I run 100 milers, although the community is certainly a part of it. I know it has something to do with reminding myself that I am alive and awake. I suppose if I had an exact answer for why, the experience might not seem so enticing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g7o330JVsag/U54ZiWDJsuI/AAAAAAAAGc4/NlGOxGjPUDE/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+3" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g7o330JVsag/U54ZiWDJsuI/AAAAAAAAGc4/NlGOxGjPUDE/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+3" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Kickin' back at the coast, post-race.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rhNT-xeEOfI/U6CqQ_t2EiI/AAAAAAAAGqs/1spO1hbOEHA/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+7" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rhNT-xeEOfI/U6CqQ_t2EiI/AAAAAAAAGqs/1spO1hbOEHA/s1600/San+Diego+100+-+7" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Best team ever!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-66120642258828443482014-02-11T11:24:00.001-08:002014-02-11T11:24:37.017-08:00The Arnold Rim Trail<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xoxGc5uj5-o/Uvp1mpA8mKI/AAAAAAAAFz0/WU2tYo3HXD4/s1600/IMG_0512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xoxGc5uj5-o/Uvp1mpA8mKI/AAAAAAAAFz0/WU2tYo3HXD4/s1600/IMG_0512.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>View from Cougar Rock</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Introduction:</i></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> The Arnold Rim Trail is a non-motorized, multi-use trail near the communities along Highway 4 in the Stanislaus National Forest. It's planned length is 17 miles, with the last 7 still currently under construction. For more information, see <a href="http://arnoldrimtrail.org/">arnoldrimtrail.org</a>.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Trail:</i></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Singletrack</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Distance:</i></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Up to 21 miles out-and-back. (Up to 34 once construction of the trail is complete.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Difficulty:</i></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">&nbsp;Easy to Moderate</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Trailhead:</i></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> There are currently three trailheads used for access to the ART. I used two of them, so I'll describe those here.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><ul><li><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Sierra Nevada Logging Museum:</span></i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> From westbound Hwy 4, turn right on Blagen Rd. and follow it for about one mile. Turn left on Dunbar Rd, past the elementary school, and turn right at the giant pencil. (Yes, seriously.) There are several signs along the way directing you to the trailhead, so it's very easy to find.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Valley View Dr.:</i> </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">From westbound Hwy 4, turn right on Lakemont Dr. Veer left at the first junction onto Valley View Dr. Follow this for about a mile through the residential. Please drive at a respectful speed! When the road turns to dirt, follow it for about another half mile. (The road is in decent shape, so moderate clearance vehicles should be fine.) The parking area will be on your right. There was no trailhead sign, but you can identify it by the two picnic tables present, and the P9 access trail located in the southwest corner of the lot.</span></li></ul><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7Wf9mhjw85A/Uvp2snfpFJI/AAAAAAAAFz8/-Gkn6bLPlDQ/s1600/IMG_0505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7Wf9mhjw85A/Uvp2snfpFJI/AAAAAAAAFz8/-Gkn6bLPlDQ/s1600/IMG_0505.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Big Pencil at the SNLM trailhead!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Season: </i></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Year round, although some sections may be affected by snow at times during winter. You can call the Calaveras Ranger Station for current conditions at (209) 795-1381.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Water: </i></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I didn't find water available at either of the trailheads I used. The trail passes near creeks at both the western and eastern ends, but most miles are dry.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Trail description:</i></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> You can print out a nice map with additional information&nbsp;<a href="http://arnoldrimtrail.org/documents/ArnoldRimTrailMapBrochure_2MB.pdf" target="_blank">here</a>. I began my run the first day from the Sierra Nevada Logging Museum at the westernmost end of the trail.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The first mile is on a paved trail near San Antonio Creek. After that, it's nothing but beautiful singletrack. The trail was smooth and in great condition. Not very technical, and with graded, rolling climbs, it made for fast running.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-43P1R_5biVc/Uvp2siIIViI/AAAAAAAAFz8/Rd_tetqMYy0/s1600/IMG_0507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-43P1R_5biVc/Uvp2siIIViI/AAAAAAAAFz8/Rd_tetqMYy0/s1600/IMG_0507.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Beautiful, fast, shady running.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The trail is shaded by a mixed conifer forest of pine, fir, cedar, and oak trees. Lovely! I cruised along for about 4 miles until I reached the Falls Overlook Trail.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This was an easy spur trail that led me to a rocky outcropping above San Antonio Creek. It was the first real view on the trail, but I have to confess, it was very difficult to spot the falls. After a little rock scrambling, I sighted it through the trees in the distance, but I couldn't help wondering if there was a better viewpoint somewhere that I'd just missed.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Back on the main trail, I climbed up to the rim section. This stretch, from below Manuel Peak to Cougar Rock, offers the best and most consistent views of the trail.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WL8sQnwyk0E/Uvp3QoiYOgI/AAAAAAAAF0E/mYOf0LPpzco/s1600/IMG_0510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WL8sQnwyk0E/Uvp3QoiYOgI/AAAAAAAAF0E/mYOf0LPpzco/s1600/IMG_0510.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7aWRftrgzY/Uvp3Qoc2bSI/AAAAAAAAF0E/Ch9VYQQbY5g/s1600/IMG_0511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7aWRftrgzY/Uvp3Qoc2bSI/AAAAAAAAF0E/Ch9VYQQbY5g/s1600/IMG_0511.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rseh0MLJVXw/Uvp3QjJT00I/AAAAAAAAF0E/q51RAvkDZDw/s1600/IMG_0508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rseh0MLJVXw/Uvp3QjJT00I/AAAAAAAAF0E/q51RAvkDZDw/s1600/IMG_0508.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In spite of it being midwinter, the sunshine on this more exposed section of trail kept me warm and smiling. Views from Top of the World and Cougar Rock looked west toward the central valley and east to the snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I turned around and retraced my steps for about a 17 mile run. I was thrilled with my day on this newly discovered trail!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It should be noted that from the Valley View Dr. trailhead, there are a number of connecting trails and dirt roads that can be used to make various loops. I spent one morning hiking with family through this area, and we managed to navigate well with the aid of the map. The trails are generally well marked, even though their placement on the map may not be 100% perfect.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Also, I approached this trail as a runner, of course, but it did not pass without notice that this is also a very friendly mountain bike trail. I only saw a few bikers both days, but the trail was well-graded and not highly technical, making it a great choice for beginner to intermediate mountain bikers.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8p5FMPpVf6M/Uvp3jBAKOWI/AAAAAAAAF0M/ut1RtMIaKl8/s1600/IMG_0524.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8p5FMPpVf6M/Uvp3jBAKOWI/AAAAAAAAF0M/ut1RtMIaKl8/s1600/IMG_0524.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>View from Cougar Rock with a storm rolling in.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-68432271943735529422014-01-28T22:39:00.000-08:002014-01-28T22:39:03.981-08:00Studying the Past; Defining the Future<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Life can only be understood backwards, &nbsp;but it must be lived forwards.</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;-Kierkegaard</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of my wish-it-could-happen-but-never-will-so-don't-get-your-hopes-up goals for 2014 is to be more efficient, and I thought I would jump right in with an efficient blog post combining a look back at 2013 with a look ahead to 2014. Some people say efficiency is just another word for laziness, but other people say "work smarter, not harder." Besides, if I don't combine the posts, at the rate I'm going, you won't hear about my 2014 goals until 2015.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If I were a coach talking about a team, I'd say 2013 was a rebuilding year. Of course, we all know what that's code for.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had some mysterious health problems and not a lot of focused training. It was not a spectacular year of racing. I was explaining this to a friend when my husband interrupted.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Didn't you run a marathon PR this year?"</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Uh ... oh yeah.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's a good thing I have someone in my life to help me keep perspective.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So with that, here are some of the highlights (both good and bad) of 2013:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i><a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-eugene-marathon.html" target="_blank">Eugene Marathon</a></i></b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The week before this seemingly miraculous PR, I also ran a course PR at the Escape From Prison Hill half marathon - a race I've run probably five or six times. So the takeaway - apparently I was in good speed shape. I managed a 3:11 marathon (an 8 minute PR) on pretty low-mileage training. Three cheers for track intervals! Not only did I feel awesome throughout the race, but I got to spend a beautiful weekend with my dear friend, Charlie. Also interesting: the highlight of my year running-wise came only three months in. It was so long ago, no wonder I forgot it happened in 2013!</span><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ytJ2q_OwQEM/UuW6fWNFV7I/AAAAAAAAFZY/GYJ2QwdcuqY/s1600/after+the+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ytJ2q_OwQEM/UuW6fWNFV7I/AAAAAAAAFZY/GYJ2QwdcuqY/s1600/after+the+finish.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Red-faced, happy 3:11 marathoner!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>Spring and Summer Races and Adventure Runs</i></b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I&nbsp;followed up Eugene&nbsp;with another year at Reno's awesome Silver State 50K. There was plenty that bore mentioning about that race, like sharing several enjoyable miles with the lovely Katie Trent (who, by the way, blew by me in the last 5 miles to kick my butt!), and teaming up with another woman to push each other on the final 10 miles of downhill. However, among other ways that I was a slacker, I didn't do a lot of blogging this year, so no race report.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I didn't write a report for Utah's Squaw Peak 50M either. Nonetheless, it was a highlight because it was my first race in Utah, my first time in the Wasatch, and a perfect destination race to enjoy with my best friend. In fact, Jamie and I ended up running most of that race together, which is another reason it makes the highlight reel. In addition to being a challenging and beautiful race, I also experienced probably the best aid station treat I'd ever had at the first aid station - pigs in a blanket with fresh cooked pancakes and sausages doused in maple syrup. Oh my God. So. Good.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This year at the <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2013/08/tahoe-rim-trail-2013.html" target="_blank">Tahoe Rim Trail 50M</a> did not disappoint, of course. Heat, friends, and a mad finishing dash for a Western States qualifier. An excellent day, followed by a night of aid station volunteering for the 100 mile runners. I did manage to put together a <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2013/08/tahoe-rim-trail-2013.html" target="_blank">race report</a> for this one!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>The Summer of Joy</i></b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This was the first summer in 10 years as a teacher that I did not pick up a summer job. The plan was to spend as much time with family as possible, and boy did we! My sister took to calling it the Summer of Joy, and it was awesome. A week in Yosemite, a week at the beach in Monterey, a week visiting family in Seattle, a trip to Minnesota for Andrew's HS reunion, and another week in SoCal. Whew! My only complaint is that it all went by too fast.</span><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZvHH-LIbhcM/UuiP5WlcO-I/AAAAAAAAFrE/hTkLuiGaxz8/s1600/DSCF2780.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZvHH-LIbhcM/UuiP5WlcO-I/AAAAAAAAFrE/hTkLuiGaxz8/s1600/DSCF2780.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Laura, me, Jamie, at Mirror Lake, Yosemite.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Hs43g76SYlQ/UuiP5hTQGXI/AAAAAAAAFrI/IXfpmU4qRzM/s1600/DSCF2793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Hs43g76SYlQ/UuiP5hTQGXI/AAAAAAAAFrI/IXfpmU4qRzM/s1600/DSCF2793.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>High country long run with Jamie in Yosemite. I swear the twin outfits were not planned!!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aDm0xxbWNb4/UuiP5V90ngI/AAAAAAAAFrM/VMonOvAIQHo/s1600/DSCF2808.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aDm0xxbWNb4/UuiP5V90ngI/AAAAAAAAFrM/VMonOvAIQHo/s1600/DSCF2808.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Gettin' high on Yosemite granite with my sweetie.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wOm-YPZW0zA/UuXLx5gljZI/AAAAAAAAFkw/HyhHG88aGgY/s1600/IMG_0026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wOm-YPZW0zA/UuXLx5gljZI/AAAAAAAAFkw/HyhHG88aGgY/s1600/IMG_0026.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Road ride along Monterey Bay.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h0FmKOPw8bY/UuXLx9m_Z-I/AAAAAAAAFkw/kTsSecR1eXI/s1600/IMG_0035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h0FmKOPw8bY/UuXLx9m_Z-I/AAAAAAAAFkw/kTsSecR1eXI/s1600/IMG_0035.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Brugman Family Jam at the beach house.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YTmG6FHieXQ/UuccBJJI5hI/AAAAAAAAFp0/BJHsoHwwE4E/s1600/IMG_2597_SX260HS.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YTmG6FHieXQ/UuccBJJI5hI/AAAAAAAAFp0/BJHsoHwwE4E/s1600/IMG_2597_SX260HS.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Kite flying available here, all week long.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ViQCF-Jk_Fw/Uuc5DTIz-BI/AAAAAAAAFqE/Gi-rZY497QM/s1600/IMG_2687_SX260HS.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ViQCF-Jk_Fw/Uuc5DTIz-BI/AAAAAAAAFqE/Gi-rZY497QM/s1600/IMG_2687_SX260HS.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Surf's up! Sis and I head for some beginner breaks.&nbsp;</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SBPxUpmOcIk/Uuc6hqu10RI/AAAAAAAAFqs/KogpfcKnrp4/s1600/IMG_2784_SX260HS.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SBPxUpmOcIk/Uuc6hqu10RI/AAAAAAAAFqs/KogpfcKnrp4/s1600/IMG_2784_SX260HS.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Kayaking the Elkhorn Slough. So much fun with up close encounters with playful sea otters!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4na-3wIm35s/Uuc6bn0lllI/AAAAAAAAFqc/Kq6wWUqrjrU/s1600/IMG_15420_50D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4na-3wIm35s/Uuc6bn0lllI/AAAAAAAAFqc/Kq6wWUqrjrU/s1600/IMG_15420_50D.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Birdwatching beachside with sis.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aiG6U81WCIw/Uuc6cmFzh-I/AAAAAAAAFqk/ONhdoMl8sKc/s1600/IMG_15456_50D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aiG6U81WCIw/Uuc6cmFzh-I/AAAAAAAAFqk/ONhdoMl8sKc/s1600/IMG_15456_50D.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Family portrait at the beach house.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GBMMFRz284c/Uuc6VOIKVpI/AAAAAAAAFqU/W8wtUorP6ic/s1600/IMG_15486_50D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GBMMFRz284c/Uuc6VOIKVpI/AAAAAAAAFqU/W8wtUorP6ic/s1600/IMG_15486_50D.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Ian and me playing wave tag. Best game ever! The goal was not to get wet, but we figured out it was way more fun if we just let the wave get us.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ShdvxeanegU/UuXLx1H2UgI/AAAAAAAAFkw/0yyUjuWyUfE/s1600/IMG_0036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ShdvxeanegU/UuXLx1H2UgI/AAAAAAAAFkw/0yyUjuWyUfE/s1600/IMG_0036.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Campfire on the beach!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oZ_uFFxAABs/UucYfJY8XCI/AAAAAAAAFpo/atqfIA1zzvk/s1600/1077378_10201491249952673_1281903759_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oZ_uFFxAABs/UucYfJY8XCI/AAAAAAAAFpo/atqfIA1zzvk/s1600/1077378_10201491249952673_1281903759_o.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Campfire in the backyard! (In Truckee)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TN3BhVLj32o/UuXLx3ZVY3I/AAAAAAAAFkw/R3-ovub-a-k/s1600/IMG_0151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TN3BhVLj32o/UuXLx3ZVY3I/AAAAAAAAFkw/R3-ovub-a-k/s1600/IMG_0151.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Road trip! Truckee --&gt;Seattle</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-57xjcwDC96Q/UuXLx-TztuI/AAAAAAAAFkw/D_GG1o2SpF8/s1600/IMG_0161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-57xjcwDC96Q/UuXLx-TztuI/AAAAAAAAFkw/D_GG1o2SpF8/s1600/IMG_0161.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Seattle! (You can tell because it's raining.)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yAZ5Vtyetjs/UuXLx6aqFKI/AAAAAAAAFkw/luV4BCmHC4I/s1600/IMG_0168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yAZ5Vtyetjs/UuXLx6aqFKI/AAAAAAAAFkw/luV4BCmHC4I/s1600/IMG_0168.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Family reunion in Seattle. That's a lot of Brugmans!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LYBkjmBeh4Q/UuXLxwZ81FI/AAAAAAAAFkw/QlBUr-Qqzys/s1600/IMG_0174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LYBkjmBeh4Q/UuXLxwZ81FI/AAAAAAAAFkw/QlBUr-Qqzys/s1600/IMG_0174.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Seattle --&gt;Truckee. Dad flew us home, so no road trip this time.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IZFT5am3CpQ/UuXLx-cqHxI/AAAAAAAAFkw/meRUXSVTeO8/s1600/IMG_0184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IZFT5am3CpQ/UuXLx-cqHxI/AAAAAAAAFkw/meRUXSVTeO8/s1600/IMG_0184.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></i></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Shakespeare on the lake, Tahoe. An excellent version of A Midsummer Night's Dream.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bey71ENJuH0/UuXLx6v_PiI/AAAAAAAAFkw/K1Z4uyzWNMk/s1600/IMG_0186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bey71ENJuH0/UuXLx6v_PiI/AAAAAAAAFkw/K1Z4uyzWNMk/s1600/IMG_0186.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Truckee Thursdays!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LvTh4s71dOU/UuXLx9_uyPI/AAAAAAAAFkw/pQ_XkCfdrp0/s1600/IMG_0134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LvTh4s71dOU/UuXLx9_uyPI/AAAAAAAAFkw/pQ_XkCfdrp0/s1600/IMG_0134.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>High school reunion, Edina, MN.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>The Year of Living Painfully</i></b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If the best part of last year was the Summer of Joy, it was countered by the worst part: a continuation of the mysterious abdominal pain that has plagued me periodically since just before Hardrock in 2012. I learned a lot of things this year, even if the answer to my problem still eludes me. I learned a ton about nutrition,&nbsp;a little&nbsp;about alternative medicine,&nbsp;and more than I ever wanted to know about the digestive system.&nbsp;I also learned how important it is to have good health insurance. Thank goodness mine is good!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The long and the short of the story is that we are still monitoring the situation and are without any definitive answers, although a lot of things have been ruled out. I spent a lot of time getting tests - blood tests, upper endoscopy, ultrasound, more blood tests, another ultrasound. Probably more blood tests; I can't remember. I met my deductible and my out of pocket maximum on my insurance. Fun stuff. Then I finished off the year with surgery to remove a fibroma from my abdominal wall. Super fun.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But! I feel fine at the moment, even though I'm pretty sure my problem isn't solved. I'm running well and just appreciating each pain free day as it comes.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Looking ahead to 2014 -</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's funny how the ultra season seems so far away, and then, in the first couple weeks of December, your calendar is suddenly packed. In spite of some lingering health questions, I was still anxious to get back on the 100 mile horse. I made it through the lottery for San Diego 100, and the rest of my races fell in line nicely to lead up to it. Here's what I've got on the schedule:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Way Too Cool 50K (March 8th)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Lake Sonoma 50M (April 12th)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Miner's Revenge 26M (April 27th)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">San Diego 100 (June 7)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">TRT 50M (July 19)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And of course, I'll probably do the Silver State 50M to help with San Diego training, but I want to wait until all the Ultrasignup charges fade from my husband's mind before throwing another one on the credit card. December is tough on the pocket book, man!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Although I feel a bit more serious about my racing than I did last year, I'm still trying to keep my overall goals focused on other things - taking care of my health, spending time with family, and appreciating every day, even when I don't accomplish all the things I'd like.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That last one is a nod to my lack of creative outlets in 2013. I didn't write much, I only played guitar when my sister was around, and I didn't knit a single stitch. I simply had to re-prioritize a lot of the time, but the truth is, those creative outlets really help me. They help keep me from feeling frustrated and anxious. They help me focus. They fulfill some of the same job that running does for me. They make me happy! So I'm planning to do a bit more of those things in 2014, even if it's just a tiny bit, and to still appreciate and enjoy the days when I can't find the time.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I hope to see many of you out there at races. I'll be volunteering and cheering at the local races I'm not running (except TRT, where, of course, I'll be doing both), so please look for me out there, and tell me how your year is going!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Happy 2014, everyone!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br />Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-34029841527758425572013-10-28T22:32:00.000-07:002013-10-28T22:32:47.736-07:00Made up Stories and Young Adults<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Neither novels nor their readers benefit from attempts to divine whether any facts hide inside a story. Such efforts attack the very idea that made-up stories can matter, which is sort of the foundational assumption of our species.</i></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; - </i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">John Green,</span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> The Fault in our Stars</i><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Description begins in the writer's imagination, but should finish in the reader's.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;- </i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Stephen King</span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, On Writing</i></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As a teacher of both writing and literature, I often find myself telling my students that reading and writing are two sides of the same coin. Writing, for me, is an act of connecting, of reaching out. It’s a way of creating relationships with people I don’t even know, and I’ve long believed that creating meaningful relationships is part of the important work of a life well lived.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I think this is what art in general is all about. Whether you’re a writer, a musician, a painter, a singer, a dancer – on some level, you’re attempting to connect with others. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Reading, then, is also an act of connecting. Instead of doing most of the talking, the reader does most of the listening. The reader is not, however, a passive participant. As <a href="http://johngreenbooks.com/" target="_blank">John Green</a>puts it, “Reading is always an act of empathy. It’s always an imaging of what it’s like to be someone else.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You can live so many different lives through the act of reading stories. It’s possible to learn so much about so many different things through the living of those lives. It’s simply brilliant.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately because I’m more of a reader at the moment than a writer. I simply haven’t had the emotional energy for creating my own art, but I’ve taken great solace in living on the other side of the equation by reading more than usual.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And what do I read? Mostly young adult fiction. After all, I do spend my days surrounded by them (young adults, I mean). But to be honest, I know that’s not the only reason I like to read what they’re reading. I love YA literature for some of the same reasons I like working with its audience: there’s just something very compelling about that time of life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The experience of being a teenager can be exciting, confusing, provocative, scary, poignant, and incredibly vivid. That transformation from childhood to adulthood is a pivotal time in many of our lives, and one where we make a lot of choices than can affect the adult we eventually become.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The first book of assigned reading that I can remember loving is John Knowles’s <i>A Separate Peace</i>. I was a sophomore in high school, and I remember feeling so connected to the emotions of the characters. Not coincidentally, the essay I wrote for that book is one of the first pieces of writing I can recall really pouring my heart into. An early lesson in how good literature can inspire.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As an adult, my relationship to the genre has changed. In high school, I loved Holden Caulfield because he was so critical of adults, so full of judgment. These days, I don’t see that as such an intriguing characteristic, but his struggle to make sense of his world and growing up is one that gives me empathy for my own students. I still love <i>Catcher in the Rye</i>, but for much different reasons than I did as a teen.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I first began teaching ten years ago, I did make a concerted effort to read some more current YA fiction so that I could share casual discussions with my students. I didn’t realize it would be a path to reconnecting with an entire genre of literature I’d forgotten. On one trip to the bookstore in those early years, I happened across, and purchased, John Green’s recently published, debut novel, <i>Looking for Alaska</i>. If you’ve talked about books with me at all, you’ll know that John Green is my favorite author, and <i>Alaska</i>was my first taste of brilliant YA literature since I’d been a teen myself. If I were to give you a quick summary of the book, I would say that it is strikingly similar to <i>A Separate Peace</i>. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Not only do I love John Green’s books (If you haven’t yet read <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Fault-Stars-John-Green/dp/0525478817" target="_blank">The Fault in our Stars</a></i>, go do it now! Even if you don’t think you’re a fan of YA. Just read it.), but the man himself is completely full of awesome. Through the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/channel/UCGaVdbSav8xWuFWTadK6loA" target="_blank">youtube channel</a>s created by him and his brother, Hank, he has allowed his fans unprecedented access to who he is, and what he and Hank think on all kinds of topics. John Green is smart, thoughtful, hilarious, and an unabashed nerd. He and Hank have created a community of like-minded, motivated individuals who are more than just fans of the books and videos and songs the brothers create. They are participants, engaged in artistic conversations. The world needs more people like them.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of the reasons that I am allowing myself to go all fan-girly over John here is that he is such an inspiration, and with the recent success of <i>The Fault in our Stars</i>, more people are starting to realize it. (John shares some interesting concerns over this phenomenon in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SjF9oTrEREk&amp;feature=c4-overview&amp;list=UUGaVdbSav8xWuFWTadK6loA" target="_blank">this video</a>.) Much of what I’ve said here are similar to things John has said in his videos over the years. It’s easy to connect with someone who verbalizes so well notions that you already hold true. He sums it all up very nicely I think in this introduction to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MSYw502dJNY" target="_blank">Crash Course Literature</a>. (What? You’ve never heard of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/crashcourse" target="_blank">Crash Course</a>? You’d better go check it out! Right after you finish reading <i>The Fault in our Stars</i>.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/MSYw502dJNY" width="640"></iframe> <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I love this video for so many reasons, but one is the topic that I last heard addressed by my own high school English teacher many years ago: authorial intent. This is completely my favorite thing about reading – it is up to YOU as the reader to interpret what happened! Can’t decide whether Pi really survived for 227 days at sea with Richard Parker? Don’t understand the ending of <i>The Giver</i>? Really <i>really</i> dying to know whether he chose the Lady or the Tiger? (Questions, by the way, that all of my students ask me.) You, as the reader, have to decide for yourself, and each person’s answer may be different. &nbsp;<a href="http://johngreenbooks.com/questions-about-the-fault-in-our-stars-spoilers/#aia" target="_blank">“You decide whether the swing set is just a swing set.”</a> Author Nathan Bransford has a great post about <a href="http://blog.nathanbransford.com/2011/12/how-art-changes-with-us.html" target="_blank">How Art Changes With Us</a>, emphasizing (to me) how what we bring to the table as a reader is incredibly relevant to our understanding of a story.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Another reason I’ve been thinking about these things lately is that, back in September, my students and I celebrated <a href="http://www.bannedbooksweek.org/" target="_blank">Banned Books Week</a>. It blows my mind that people want to prevent teens from reading about the ugly and difficult things in this world. How else to allow them to learn about, and then hopefully avoid experiencing, those ugly things themselves? How else to keep them from being lost if they already have? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Again, literature is such an incredible tool for learning. This is <i>Speak </i>author Lauire Halse Anderson’s take on censorship.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span> <iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/tyjMaSyQLE8?list=PLC0A36E5C34C97552" width="640"></iframe> <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Reluctant readers make me sad, but at the same time, I consider them a great&nbsp;challenge.&nbsp; I know there are books out there for everyone. One of my biggest jobs as a teacher of reading is to help kids find books that they love. I can say that I have definitely gotten a lot better at that part of the job. How? Simply by loving reading the same books they love reading and then sharing them. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Today in class, one of my students interrupted a lesson to declare, “I finished <i>Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children</i>!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I asked him if he liked it, and he was like, “Yeah, but it was such a cliffhanger!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I was all, “I know! He’d better be writing a sequel!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Important conversations to have with kids, right?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(Incidentally, yes, many of my students have figured out they can derail a boring-as-hell grammar lesson by throwing out a comment about a book. I kind of consider that on-topic, really.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Anyway, my point is, read good books. Good fiction matters because it connect us. It teaches us about each other and about ourselves, and often we don’t even realize we’re learning at all. We’re just being swept away in the power of a good story. Stories help to make the world a little bit smaller, in a very good way.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What do you think? What was the first story that swept you away? What are your favorite titles now?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-35923660579389218522013-08-09T21:54:00.001-07:002013-08-10T09:26:38.527-07:00Tahoe Rim Trail 2013<div class="MsoNormal"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8sHfJsz06m4/UgWrBR0-h6I/AAAAAAAAEJs/2YEewWPm2ZU/s1600/DSCF0617.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8sHfJsz06m4/UgWrBR0-h6I/AAAAAAAAEJs/2YEewWPm2ZU/s400/DSCF0617.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Sunrise at the TRTER - one of my favorite <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2011/08/tahoe-rim-trail-endurance-run-2011.html" target="_blank">pics from 2011</a></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The Tahoe Rim Trail races keep me coming back every year for many reasons. It’s partly the incredible scenery and challenging terrain, but mostly I would say it’s the awesome people involved. (Okay, yeah, it's also in my backyard.) The runners, the race organizers, the volunteers, the supporters and pacers – it feels like the epitome of ultrarunning family, and there’s no place I’d rather be on this weekend in July.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I signed up for the 50 Mile race this year, and I’ll be honest, my training has been what you might call lackluster. A lack of time combined with a lack of motivation can greatly diminish a girl’s ultra mileage. It’s just been that kind of year, and I’m okay with that. It does take some adjusting of expectations though, and there’s been a lot of that, too.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My primary goal for this race was to run under 11 hours. For the first time in 5 years, I planned to put my name into the hat for Western States, and for the first time in 7 or 8 years, I am without a qualifier. I ran an 11:30 at <a href="http://www.squawpeak50.com/sqw_mstr.htm" target="_blank">Squaw Peak</a>, leaving TRT as my last shot for that sub-11. I had it in the back of my mind that if I missed sub-11 here, I might sign up for <a href="http://www.firetrails50.com/" target="_blank">Firetrails</a> and try to do it there, but at this point, it wasn’t in the plan.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qr6ocWUBsL4/UgWtmWvuy9I/AAAAAAAAEJ8/Fwg7xO73tBY/s1600/photo+(6).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qr6ocWUBsL4/UgWtmWvuy9I/AAAAAAAAEJ8/Fwg7xO73tBY/s400/photo+(6).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">With Jamie and Tina Ure before the start of the 100</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lh2vmsUSWSg/UgWwdu7ianI/AAAAAAAAEKU/-vJZG91PG6c/s1600/photo+(7).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lh2vmsUSWSg/UgWwdu7ianI/AAAAAAAAEKU/-vJZG91PG6c/s400/photo+(7).JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Anthony chose to go the pacer route. Smart man!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xgcwhIYNN5U/UgWwgRj_HyI/AAAAAAAAEKc/57SZGYd03fE/s1600/photo+(9).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xgcwhIYNN5U/UgWwgRj_HyI/AAAAAAAAEKc/57SZGYd03fE/s400/photo+(9).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Chaz gets a good luck hug before the start of his 100 mile adventure!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Race morning at 4:30 AM, and Jamie and I pulled into the parking lot simultaneously from opposite directions. Hardly surprising. We just seem to be in sync that way much of the time. We arrived in plenty of time to see friends in the 100-miler and wish them well before their 5:00 AM start. Several of them were tackling the 100 mile distance for the first time. I always find myself in awe of this choice – like, <i>really?</i>&nbsp;Couldn’t you have picked an easier race for your first 100? – until I remember that I did the same thing. Oh yeah. I guess if you’re going to be crazy, you might as well just embrace it, right?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FSouUZ5Mji0/UgWtrxzF16I/AAAAAAAAEKE/STxsVrQm2DM/s1600/photo+(8).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FSouUZ5Mji0/UgWtrxzF16I/AAAAAAAAEKE/STxsVrQm2DM/s400/photo+(8).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Jamie and Michaela in the early morning</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I lined up with John Trent, and we managed to share most of the early miles on the way to Marlette Lake. I felt a little unsure of my pace, so I tried to hold back a bit, but mostly I just went with the flow. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By the time we reached the first aid station, Hobart at mile 6, I didn’t need to refill water yet, but I was starving! I stuffed two PBJ squares into my mouth and made a quick visit to the port-a-potty. I have to mention this because the port-a-potties at Hobart smelled like cherry Jolly Ranchers. I’m not kidding! They had some kind of amazing air fresheners in there. Whatever they were, Hobart peeps, keep them on the list for next year!&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QJl4lZzr1iY/UgW5mYejAtI/AAAAAAAAELU/8JHC6q6R8jo/s1600/TRT+2009+033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QJl4lZzr1iY/UgW5mYejAtI/AAAAAAAAELU/8JHC6q6R8jo/s400/TRT+2009+033.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Climbing up to Marlette Peak. (Photo from 2009)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Morning light from the top of Marlette Peak is one of the most beautiful sights you will ever see. I took it all in with joy before descending into forested, rolling terrain. This section has a mix of climbing and descending on the way to the Tunnel Creek aid station. Later in the race, returning through this same section, a runner told me that he had been running near a group of men behind me during these early miles. Apparently, one runner in the group instructed, “Watch her. When she walks, you walk!” I thought this was super nice of him to tell me – so glad I could help other runners with their pace without even knowing it!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The Tunnel Creek aid station, as many of you know, is a thing of delight. It was a bit overwhelming because I was greeted by so many enthusiastic friends, but who can possibly complain about that! It wasn’t yet hot, but definitely warm enough to ice the bottles, and Jenny Capel took great care of me while I sucked down strawberries and another PBJ.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The next stretch was the 6-mile Red House Loop. A steep descent, some nice, flattish running, and a steep climb. Overall, it felt pretty darn good. I passed my friend Tina here who was attempting her first 100. Remember those crazy people I mentioned earlier? Yeah, she is a tough chick. She looked great!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On the climb back up to Tunnel I was starting to feel the heat, and my shirt was beginning to chaff under my right arm. I won’t go into all of my race day wardrobe woes, but suffice it to say that I have never before raced an ultra in anything but a tank top. So yeah, I ditched the shirt at Tunnel Creek. No more shirts for me on race day!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Between Tunnel Creek and the Bull Wheel aid station (miles 17-20ish)I started to feel some cramping in my legs. This usually only happens when I’m pushing my pace beyond what my training would really allow. I knew the heat was probably also a factor, but I sheepishly admitted to myself that I’d probably been running at the pace that I’d <i>like</i> to maintain, rather than the pace that I <i>could</i> maintain. I dialed my speed back just a notch, popped more salt, and kept drinking.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’d been heavy on both the salt and the fluids for so early in the morning (maybe 10:00 AM?), but it was definitely the right call. I’d been fighting sloshy stomach already and really wanted my body to absorb that water. I knew I would need it! Normally I don’t take much salt, but I think that’s because I typically have water in one bottle and GuBrew in the other. I just didn’t feel like the sweetness of a sports drink that day, so I was going with plain water. With the extreme heat, that meant extra salt for sure.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After the Bull Wheel aid station, I ran with Roxana Pana. We’d never met before, but we have a number of mutual friends, so it was great to finally make her acquaintance. We ran together for a few miles and shared sympathies on our similar challenges. It was already shaping up to be a tough day!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Dropping into the descent towards Diamond Peak AS, John came up behind me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I thought you were ahead of me!” I declared in surprise. It was great to see another friendly face.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I’m everywhere!” he declared, to both of our amusement.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We ran the long downhill, and I took multiple opportunities to splash my face in the cold waters of the creek. I was already crusted with salt!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My spirits got a boost as I headed into the Diamond Peak aid station which was packed with cheering fans. Betsy and Jenelle were both there to support 100 mile runners, and they immediately jumped up to help me out. It was like having my own crew! Yay! Betsy iced my bottles while I stuffed my face, then she helped me drink a Coke from my UltrAspire cup. Yes, I hadn’t quite figured out how to use the cup myself at that point. It was pretty funny. It required three hands. (I have a full tangent about going cup-free at aid stations, which I think is a super good thing, but I’m going to try to motivate to give it a blog post all its own. Don't hold your breath.) Someone (Maybe Julie, or maybe an aid station volunteer?) offered me an Otter Pop, and I was like, “Yes, yesyesyesYES!!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-le1IeCAnPaA/UgWz0zURABI/AAAAAAAAELE/z4d29gbMp7E/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-le1IeCAnPaA/UgWz0zURABI/AAAAAAAAELE/z4d29gbMp7E/s400/image.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Betsy sunscreens me up at Diamond Peak. She was the BEST! (Photo by Jenelle Potvin)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Betsy sprayed me down with sunscreen, I took a quick douse in the hose (hopefully not washing off all my sunscreen) and I was off feeling awesome! Soaking wet, ice in my sports bra, ice in my bottles, and Otter Pop in my hand. Could life be better?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, yeah, I did have that damn DP climb to tackle. Ugh.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“So John,” I yelled ahead to John, who was now running with his daughter, Katie, “remember at mile 3 when you said the first half of this climb was runnable?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was teasing him, but I really hoped he wasn’t about to break into a run. I would have felt like a total loser.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Yeah,” he laughed, and that’s about all the commentary we needed. None of us was going to run this at noon in 95 degree heat.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I did the best I could while I watched John and Katie slowly pull away from me. I was fighting small bouts of nausea and knew I just had to maintain whatever pace my body would allow. I actually passed quite a few other runners on this climb, mostly 100 milers I think, who had started at 5:00 AM. It was clear that Diamond Peak was creating massive carnage even at mile 30. I only hoped I would not be part of it!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I passed my friend, Dustin, who was another first time 100 miler. I could tell he was struggling, and I was worried for him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Just keep moving. Take it slow,” was all I had to offer. I wished I had something more inspiring to say, but I was barely holding it together myself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ebBnwpFBhyA/UgWyTvdAtEI/AAAAAAAAEKs/-zBnFCTguVM/s1600/photo+(10).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ebBnwpFBhyA/UgWyTvdAtEI/AAAAAAAAEKs/-zBnFCTguVM/s400/photo+(10).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Helen, making the Diamond Peak climb during a June training run.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Near the top of the climb, I could hear someone madly ringing a cowbell and cheering people on. I could make out the words well before I could see him, and I knew exactly who it was.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You’re awesome!” he declared to someone. “Hey, you in the shade there, time to get moving again!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I smiled. Passing out the best mojo around, none other than Greg Holmes had hiked ¾ of the way up the nastiest climb on the course in order to support us. It took me forever before I finally reached him and crawled my way by.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At this point, the hill is so step and sandy that progress is achingly slow. Your foot slides back down half a step for every step taken. In the hot sun, the sweat poured off me and I swayed with unsteady balance. While trying to wipe sweat from my eyes, I accidentally wiped a crust of salt from my face directly onto my eyeball. Gaaaahhh! Now I was stumbling <i>and </i>blind. Would this climb ever end?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At least I had the advantage of being familiar with the climb, and thus not fooling myself that I was nearly at the top when, in fact, I had quite a ways to go. Upon finally reaching the summit, I felt massive relief, but otherwise still pretty crappy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I took it easy along the ridge back toward Tunnel Creek wondering what was in store for me. Eighteen miles wasn’t really far to go, but in my current state, I knew it would take quite a long time. I felt nauseous, dizzy, and exhausted. This could turn out to be a very sad race for me. I wasn’t really upset by the thought; I just recognized the truth of the matter. It felt merely like a curious adventure. Very Alice-in-Wonderland-ish.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was doing my best to recover when another woman, who I later learned was Molly Knox, came flying by. She looked amazing. How was that possible when I felt so horrible? I didn’t let myself dwell on it too much. I just had to keep moving and stay positive.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And nothing helps a girl’s mental state like seeing all the awesome folks at Tunnel Creek again! I filled up on water and smiles, and as I left the aid station, I looked back to see if Roxana was anywhere behind me. I saw instead a girl with short ponytails with whom I had run a bit in the first half of the race. I allowed this to motivate me in staying focused and improving my pace. I knew I wasn’t in contention for a top finish or anything, but what the heck. Even when I’m feeling crappy, it’s hard to completely squash those competitive instincts, you know?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But as it turned out, I wasn’t feeling so crappy anymore. I was surprised, in fact, to discover that I was feeling quite recovered, and this further lifted my spirits. I passed a few men through this stretch up to Marlette Peak and enjoyed conversation with several of them. One of them was the one who explained how other runners had judged me to be experienced and paced off me through here in the first part of the race. That comment definitely provided a mental boost!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Eventually the ponytails girl did catch me, and I finally found out her name was Ashlee. We ran together, chatting all the way into Hobart, and it was awesome. I love it when a feeling of competitiveness in me so quickly and easily turns into one of camaraderie. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I left the aid station ahead of Ashlee, but she quickly caught me on the way to Snow Valley Peak. I gave her a brief rundown of the terrain remaining to the finish before she left me on the climb. I don’t know if it was helpful information for her, but I have realized that I usually enjoy answering people’s questions and giving advice about this course during the race. It feels like I’m contributing a tiny bit to other people’s races, and I know I always appreciate it when course veterans give me tips at races that are new to me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As I neared Snow Valley Peak aid station, I began to do the math. From SVP, it was 7 miles to the finish – about 5 ½ to the final aid station at Spooner, and 1.4 from there to the finish. &nbsp;In order to run sub-11, I really wanted to be at 9:30 on the clock, giving me 90 minutes for the final 7 miles. That would definitely put it in the bag. However, I knew that if I came through at 9:45 at the latest, I probably still had a good shot. I would just have to work for it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of course, I came through at 9:50.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, I redid the math. Seven miles to go – that meant 10 minute pace. Five of those miles are downhill, so that sounded doable, even at the end of a tough 50-miler. However, I’ve been in this place before, and I know exactly how hard it is. In <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2009/07/tahoe-rim-trail-50-mile-endurance-run.html" target="_blank">my 2009 race here</a>, I was doing the exact same math trying to go sub-ten. That year however, I had 80 minutes to squeak under the hour mark; this year I had 70. I knew it meant I had to use my downhills better.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“So, Gretchen,” Ashlee, whom I had passed at the aid station, came up behind me, “sub-11 … what do you think? Can we make it?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I smiled huge, both inside and out. Great minds think alike, right?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“That,” I breathed, “is the only reason I am even still running this fast right now. Otherwise I'd just be jogging it in. I think we have a shot at it, but it won’t be easy.” I went over the math with her that I’d been doing in my head.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Do you need to pass me?” I offered. She graciously declined, saying she was going to learn from a more experienced runner. I thought this was funny since the only reason I was keeping up with her was because I’d been passing her at aid stations, but I was stoked to have someone to run with.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I kept a close eye on the watch as we closed in on the aid station at Spooner. One thought kept me motivated and running hard: I really didn’t want to run Firetrails this year! I’m sure it’s a great race, and I’d love to do it one day, but my heart just wasn’t in the ultra training right now. In fact, so immense was my desire not to run any more 50s this year that I took the option off the table right there in the last 4 miles of TRT. It was sub-11 here, or not at all!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I watched the minutes tick by on my watch in agony. I informed Ashlee that we really needed to hit Spooner by 10:46, but I knew in my head that if it was 10:47 we should still try to go for it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When the aid station was finally in sight, my watch said 10:48. Fuck it, I thought. With Ashlee and me working together, we might be able to run 1.4 miles in 12 minutes. The easy math: about 8 minute pace. Not impossible.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Okay,” I informed Ashlee, who was running in front at this point, “we’re going to run right through this aid station, and we’re really going to have to go for it.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She didn’t question me at all; she just picked up the pace. So. Freaking. Awesome.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Turn right here. A hard right!” I yelled to her as we passed the aid station. There wasn’t time to look for turns, and since I knew the course I gave directions when necessary. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We flew around Spooner Lake, and I give Ashlee full credit. I said run hard, and she ran HARD. She kept a pace that most ultrarunners wouldn’t even bother with, and I loved it. I was barely hanging on, and I knew I wouldn’t have been able to do this without her there. &nbsp;She set the pace, and I tried to do my part by feeding her tidbits of course info.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I thought about how I had grouped up with some other runners and raced through the last 3 miles of <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2012/04/lake-sonoma-50m-2012.html" target="_blank">Lake Sonoma</a>last year in an effort to break 9 hours. This was very much the same type of racing experience, and I must confess, it was brilliant. There is just something so awesome about charging hard and pushing for a goal, and it’s even better when done with other runners.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ashlee was astute enough to yell ahead to other runners so they had plenty of time to get out of the way as we came by, feet flying, arms pumping, breathing hard. We got a lot of cheers of support, and I, running behind Ashlee, had several people tell me “Go get her!” I smiled at this because how could they know that we were actually working together, not competing against each other? Plus, ultrarunning is pretty dull as spectator sports go, so it’s fun for people to see a little bit of racing going on. I totally get that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As we approached the final straightaway with the finish in sight, my watch said we were just barely going to miss our goal. Damn! Well, nevermind the watch, we had to push it all the way across the line. We’d run through a long, difficult day, and been heatedly focused runners for the last 7 miles. That wasn’t going to change in the last 50 yards, regardless of time.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And guess what? My watch didn’t quite match the race clock, and I finished in 10:59:13 officially, with Ashlee 3 seconds ahead. Yesss!! How glad was I that I had ignored the watch in those final seconds!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The two of us spent quite a while in the finish tent recovering, exchanging hugs and excitement and congratulations, and just feeling generally stoked about the whole day. I told Ashlee that now she <i>must</i>put her name in for Western States, even though she’s never run a 100 before. She was just giddy because this was a one-hour PR for her for 50M.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It’s funny how you can struggle so much in a race, have such a huge low, and then, because the final few miles were so fun, (and, okay, because we met our goal by the skin of our teeth) you think it was actually the best race ever. It <i>was!</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You might think that because <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2009/07/tahoe-rim-trail-50-mile-endurance-run.html" target="_blank">I have previously run 9:57 atTRT</a>, I wouldn’t be that excited about 10:59 (aside from the whole WS qualifier thing). But I know there were a lot of factors making this a more challenging day, not the least of which was my mediocre training. Honestly, I could not possibly have been happier with my race, my effort, or the way this played out. It was an incredible experience, and that’s one of the things I love about ultras – every race is different, even ones on the same course. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Ashlee for tearing up the trail with me, and clearly that was the most rewarding part of my day.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We finally stumbled from the finish tent to the post-race “party zone.” My stomach really wasn’t ready for food, so I drank a few sodas while sitting around sharing race stories with Jamie, John, Ashlee, <a href="http://www.tahoerunco.com/" target="_blank">Helen</a> and some other friends. Jamie and I took advantage of the showers (cold, but when it’s still 87 degrees out, that’s not such a bad thing) because we wouldn’t be going home before the next leg of our adventure.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For many years at TRT, I’ve witnessed John Trent and his family participate in the races and then go up to Tunnel Creek to work the night shift. I’m always kind of torn between racing and volunteering here because they’re both so much fun, so this year Jamie and I decided to follow the Trent family’s lead and do both! Next stop: Tunnel Creek Aid Station!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I finally managed to down half a burrito as we bounced up the bumpy Tunnel Creek Road in Jamie’s 4-Runner. We picked up Joe, who we ran into along the way. He was hiking up to crew for four friends running the hundred. They’d come all the way from New Jersey, and all of them were running without pacers. I was impressed, to say the least. Just a little more ultrarunning awesomeness.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Volunteering at Tunnel Creek was an absolute blast, as expected. I’ll be honest, I was already tired when I arrived and I really just wanted to sit down. But when you see those hundred-mile runners coming in, you realize you’re being a total pansy-ass for wanting to sit.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Jamie got assigned to the kitchen, and my job was attending to the needs of runners as they arrived – filling hydration packs, fetching food, pouring drinks, finding things in their drop bags, whatever. Not only is this a fun and social job, but it’s totally rewarding, too. These guys and gals were working their butts off in record-breaking heat, and I could attest to the brutal conditions that they had been facing all day already.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZSPmPGi2Fig/UgWqqqLV96I/AAAAAAAAEJk/h50hawoUTpI/s1600/DSCF2158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZSPmPGi2Fig/UgWqqqLV96I/AAAAAAAAEJk/h50hawoUTpI/s400/DSCF2158.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Volunteering with Noe (pic is from 2012, but we were both back this year, of course!)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Things started to get pretty quiet by 2 or 3 in the morning in terms of runner traffic. Cots in the medical tent were filling up, and Jill Trent and I tried to perfect the brewing of coffee with a percolator over an open flame. (Jill finally got it mastered.) While the day-shift people got some much-deserved rest (Except for Andy and Joanne, who I don’t think get to sleep all weekend!), Lon, Katie, and Annie had a dance party with a Kelly-Clarkson-Miley-Cyrus soundtrack. Things get weird at TC, boys and girls, but in such a great way.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9B3efFadVNQ/UgWy0Qoh1MI/AAAAAAAAEK0/ELFJpSMUUNE/s1600/901067_10200230481235831_1528964838_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9B3efFadVNQ/UgWy0Qoh1MI/AAAAAAAAEK0/ELFJpSMUUNE/s400/901067_10200230481235831_1528964838_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Volunteering at TC, 2013. Photo by Noe Castanon</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The best part about working Tunnel Creek is the progress you get to see. Because runners come through here 6 times in the 100 mile race, you can really monitor how they’re doing. I saw so many people come back to life over the course of the night!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Jamie and I bailed at sunrise because we had been completely worthless for the previous hour. I made it home by 7:00 AM feeling like I had run a hundred miles myself. The whole experience had also felt equally satisfying as running a 100. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have to give a huge congratulations to all the runners, whether you finished or not. I saw a lot of heart out on that course that weekend. Also, a huge thank you to all of the organizers and volunteers. There’s a reason this race has become so popular, and you all are a big part of it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As with every other experience at Tahoe Rim Trail, this year did not disappoint. For the last seven years in a row, as a runner, pacer, or volunteer, I have participated in these races in some form. I’m not planning to break that streak any time soon.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-63438845593063844472013-07-16T15:53:00.000-07:002013-07-16T15:53:00.561-07:00Western States Weekend 2013<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Heat. Bloody, ridiculous heat. The Thursday before this year’s Western States weekend, that was my biggest concern. Now, two weeks later, I just remember it all as incredibly fun, and the heat-factor as simply adding to the excitement and challenge. Easy to say, since I didn’t have to run the entire 100 miles, but still. It’s funny how that works.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As with most years, this year I did a combination of volunteering at the race, and pacing for Jamie. An awesome combination of activities for those who didn’t get a slot on the starting line.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lhJ3r9b2tOo/UeXH9mfzlPI/AAAAAAAAEH0/ynmjNR7p1nw/s1600/1014264_10201454772991638_957614167_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lhJ3r9b2tOo/UeXH9mfzlPI/AAAAAAAAEH0/ynmjNR7p1nw/s400/1014264_10201454772991638_957614167_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Working the check-in table with Stan. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Photo by Chipping Fu)</span></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Friday morning, Stan Jensen and I gave out wristbands at the check-in at Squaw Valley, allowing me to greet each of the runners and wish them luck. It was great fun because I got to chat with many friends, foreign runners, and elites alike, all of whom were excited to be there. There’s an electrical energy coursing through the runners at Western States check-in, and it’s quite contagious.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Eoe0UvBe-CI/UeXH_pNfpxI/AAAAAAAAEH8/PpC043EdqMs/s1600/1064128_10152013727543626_259591008_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Eoe0UvBe-CI/UeXH_pNfpxI/AAAAAAAAEH8/PpC043EdqMs/s400/1064128_10152013727543626_259591008_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Checking in Tim.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LdDIQghpSOw/UeXIBJosiQI/AAAAAAAAEIE/dPNCAJ9XOLE/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LdDIQghpSOw/UeXIBJosiQI/AAAAAAAAEIE/dPNCAJ9XOLE/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Jenelle checks in with her crew.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, and it was too hot even in Tahoe, I started to worry about the heat. Jamie, with four silver buckles in four years, has been an incredibly consist runner at Western States. She’s also good in the heat, so I knew she’d do well, but triple-digit temps are going to be a huge challenge for anyone. Like me, for example. I even started to worry about my task of pacing 40 miles in the 80-90 degree temps I’d face overnight. Unlike Jamie, I tend to wilt when the mercury rises above 80.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In preparation for my pacing gig, I skipped the start and slept late Saturday morning. By the time I met up with Jamie’s crew (her husband, Jim, and friend, Nicki) in Auburn at 3:00, I felt excited and ready in spite of the heat.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4aU-nGlVYjQ/UeXJVx8KeOI/AAAAAAAAEIQ/xeQf3k-HDRo/s1600/photo+(4).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4aU-nGlVYjQ/UeXJVx8KeOI/AAAAAAAAEIQ/xeQf3k-HDRo/s400/photo+(4).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Team Jamie: Nicki, Jim, and me.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XoQFu9hwRLg/UeXJWkK28rI/AAAAAAAAEIY/dEmW5rcyIAo/s1600/photo+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XoQFu9hwRLg/UeXJWkK28rI/AAAAAAAAEIY/dEmW5rcyIAo/s400/photo+(3).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Calvin cheers on his mom with his uber cool shades. "Go Mom!"</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We headed to Michigan Bluff where we happily absorbed the race drama unfolding all around us. The front of the race had already gone through, but we witnessed some of our speedier friends looking strong, as well as a few elites whose races were already coming apart. We squeezed into the shade with hordes of other crews, discussing strategy for how to help Jamie when she arrived, depending on how she was feeling. I sucked down coconut water, and generally felt that there is no better way to spend an afternoon.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7grzlD7DYDg/UeXKDCAs0RI/AAAAAAAAEIg/9n6S2ugAB14/s1600/photo+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7grzlD7DYDg/UeXKDCAs0RI/AAAAAAAAEIg/9n6S2ugAB14/s400/photo+(1).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Waiting patiently at Michigan Bluff.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UTov57cYWRE/UeXKD8ICx3I/AAAAAAAAEIw/_Vn2DRYBpVY/s1600/photo+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UTov57cYWRE/UeXKD8ICx3I/AAAAAAAAEIw/_Vn2DRYBpVY/s400/photo+(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Most brilliant aid station poster ever!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Jamie’s spirits were high, which made us all happy, but she kept apologizing for being slow. Ha! We just rolled our eyes at her and assured her she was <i>not</i> slow. Slow is all relative, I guess. She was about 30 minutes behind her splits from previous years, but I was actually pleased with that. It meant she was wisely dialing things back a bit in the heat.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ohm7i-pEGTM/UeXKDvmqtFI/AAAAAAAAEIk/0oTqJYEIAhA/s1600/Jamie+and+Gretchen+WS100+MB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ohm7i-pEGTM/UeXKDvmqtFI/AAAAAAAAEIk/0oTqJYEIAhA/s400/Jamie+and+Gretchen+WS100+MB.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Walking Jamie out of Michigan.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By the time she arrived at the circus that is the Foresthill aid station, she was charging. She’s a master at getting in and out of aid stations quickly, and soon we were heading down toward the river together.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LgiaQjHtKpA/UeXLFLE21SI/AAAAAAAAEJE/GboGpmGEHU8/s1600/Jamie+and+Gretchen+WS100+Foresthill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LgiaQjHtKpA/UeXLFLE21SI/AAAAAAAAEJE/GboGpmGEHU8/s400/Jamie+and+Gretchen+WS100+Foresthill.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Leaving Foresthill</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Most of the time as a pacer, I think of my job as keeping my runner company, monitoring her nutrition and hydration, and assisting with staying on-course. None of these things is very challenging with Jamie at States, so I don’t usually find pacing too stressful. This year, however, I was also paying a little more attention to her pace because I knew sub-24 in the extreme heat would be a tall order. I also had pacing duties from Foresthill to the finish, instead of just Foresthill to Green Gate, which is my usual gig. Somehow, I felt this meant I had to take things more seriously.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She made great time to the river, and the water as we crossed felt wonderful. I even wished it had been colder since, even though it was 11:30 at night, it was still painfully warm out. I would have dunked myself completely under if not for the cell phone in the top of my hydration pack.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At the far side of the river, I calculated that we had made up 15 minutes on 24-hour pace since Foresthill. I was excited! I knew if she could make up another 15 minutes by Highway 49, she still had a chance at sub-24. Although she was still passing people and moving up in the race, I could see by ALT at mile 85 that we were unlikely to make that goal. I felt like she was moving strong, but the watch is always so damn honest.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I didn’t mention the unlikelihood of sub-24 to her at this point, for fear it would take some of the wind out of her sails. I figured my job was still to keep her positive and focused on moving forward. By the time we reached No Hands, I know it had to be obvious to her, but it wasn’t until our watches actually hit 5:00, on the climb up to Robie, that she acknowledged it. And in the predawn light above the glow of the river, we kissed her sub-24 streak goodbye with a few philosophical words. Sad, but in its own way, kind of beautiful. I couldn’t criticize her for feeling a little disappointed in spite of an incredibly impressive race because I totally understood it. I would have felt the same way. But every race is different and can’t really be held to the same expectations as its predecessors. And thank God for that, or running a hundred miles might start to get boring.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Two days later, she said this Western States was her favorite. With the exception of <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2011/07/western-states-100-race-report-2011.html" target="_blank">my one time as a racer</a>, I think it was mine, too.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zCY4q67aPwU/UeXLaDEDuGI/AAAAAAAAEJM/OkdwB8Wj39g/s1600/Jamie+and+Gretchen+WS100+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zCY4q67aPwU/UeXLaDEDuGI/AAAAAAAAEJM/OkdwB8Wj39g/s400/Jamie+and+Gretchen+WS100+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>At the finishline with my badass best friend.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The finish line at Placer High was its usual, emotional site of joy. I witnessed many friends make their lap around the track, and I cried every single time, starting with Jamie. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-16ZtUgQrHZE/UeXLcDWnMmI/AAAAAAAAEJU/dQC-JNy2kD8/s1600/photo+(5).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-16ZtUgQrHZE/UeXLcDWnMmI/AAAAAAAAEJU/dQC-JNy2kD8/s400/photo+(5).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Clare, Scott, and Jamie after Scott's finish.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Was it hot? I barely remember. I just know that Jamie kicked ass and never gave up. I was lucky to be there. One of the beauties of Western States is that, even though it’s hard to get into the race, it’s so easy to be a part of it.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20554645.post-71621835413274219972013-05-13T23:39:00.000-07:002013-05-13T23:39:41.302-07:00The Eugene Marathon<span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">If I could tell you only one thing about the Eugene Marathon, it would be this: Go run it! <o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Of course, if you know me, you know that I have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">far</i> more than just one thing to say on the subject. </span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w6EDQBvEChE/UZHQB0ofV5I/AAAAAAAAEFs/4Ncj1tUw0ao/s1600/Tracktown+at+Hayward.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w6EDQBvEChE/UZHQB0ofV5I/AAAAAAAAEFs/4Ncj1tUw0ao/s400/Tracktown+at+Hayward.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Tracktown, USA!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Eugene first caught my eye last year when Charlie and I were scoping races for a spring marathon to run together. We figured Eugene would be a great place to run fast, and Big Sur would be perfect if we just wanted to relax and stick together for the whole race. Obviously, Big Sur was the right call, but after looking so closely at Eugene, I knew it was one that I wanted to run one day. Turns out, I only had the patience to wait one year.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">My training has been what you might call bipolar. With an overloaded work schedule and a frequent lack of motivation, my main goal has been to enjoy my running. I didn’t do any of the long, goal-pace road runs necessary to run a truly fast marathon. It just didn’t sound like fun. Instead, I spent weekends in the canyons with Jamie. What my long runs lacked in speed, they more than made up for in enjoyment.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">My weekly mileage for March and April averaged somewhere around 40. Not bad for marathon training, if not exactly spectacular. The only thing I did do to help myself was put in some solid track workouts.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I’m not afraid of a vicious set of intervals, although it’s true that my favorite part of any speed session is that slow, satisfying, barefoot jog around the soccer fields after it’s all over. I spent Tuesday evenings at the Reno High track and ran, among other workouts, a bunch of those damn Yasso 800s. Such a love-hate thing, interval workouts. <o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Marathon day approached, and I’d managed to average 3:01 for 8X800 during track workouts, but only 7:50 pace for a “long” road run of 16 miles. What did this mean for a potential finish time? No clue.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I was more than a little shaken by what happened at Boston, and I just couldn’t get myself out the door for any final training days. Sickened and confused by the bombing of an event I love, motivation abandoned me. It resulted in a significantly longer taper than I would normally give to a marathon leading into a season of ultras, but whatever. I truly didn’t care. <o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I knew the one thing that might lift my spirits though. Running a marathon.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I was also extremely lucky that Charlie had agreed to join me for the weekend, even though she wouldn’t be running. It’s so rare that I have my own, personal cheering section! I also have little interest in travelling any real distance for a race if I'm doing it all alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">We spent Saturday hanging out at the farmer’s market in Eugene, getting a slice of the local culture. It was a perfect pre-marathon day. We sat on the grass in the warm sunshine eating tamales and watching the bluegrass kids vie for territorial rights to various street corners. I’m fairly certain U of O has some sort of entrance requirement about being able to play either the banjo or guitar, with extra credit given for fiddle or washtub base.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NuW2bHRQh10/UZHQ08xxWMI/AAAAAAAAEF0/iCI9qRkwGUQ/s1600/Farmers+Market.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NuW2bHRQh10/UZHQ08xxWMI/AAAAAAAAEF0/iCI9qRkwGUQ/s400/Farmers+Market.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Sunshine, organic local produce, and banjos. Yes!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">That night we ate Gyros and found an awesome movie theater where they serve you beer and burgers while you kick back on the couch and watch Ben Affleck get Americans out of Iran. We really need one of these theaters in Truckee!<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Race morning arrived with perfect temperatures. The cloud cover meant it was warm enough to start in my tank but would never get uncomfortably hot. I made my way to corral B (for 3:05 to 3:25 finishers) and bid Charlie farewell.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5oQ-ch6LuqU/UZHRrggjS5I/AAAAAAAAEF8/n77wVwcqb3E/s1600/With+Chuck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5oQ-ch6LuqU/UZHRrggjS5I/AAAAAAAAEF8/n77wVwcqb3E/s400/With+Chuck.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Pre-race, with Chuck.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Before the gun, we had a moment of silence for all those affected by the bombings at Boston. It may seem cliché, but this was one of the most powerful moments of the race for me. You know how things are at the beginning of a marathon: The announcer’s getting everyone excited, telling us how many minutes to the start while enormous speakers pump out Eye of the Tiger; runners are bouncing up and down in the crowd or feigning last minute stretches; a mass of well-tuned and rested bodies is ready to bolt down the open road; energy fills the air. So to have that energy so quickly silenced, sucked away as if by a vacuum, was impressive. We all stood with bowed heads, no background chatter, not even a baby crying in the distance. Silence.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">And somehow feeling slightly more connected to the runners around us, we headed off for our marathon adventure.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I had tucked myself between the 3:05 and 3:25 pace groups in an attempt to stay out of the crowds. Still, the first few miles felt uncomfortably tight, and I mostly focused on navigating among the other runners and not tripping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We ran through quiet neighborhoods with adorable houses – thousands of feet stampeding through the middle of the street, while inside, people slept that beautiful sleep of Sunday mornings. Or maybe the thundering feet woke them up; I don’t know.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V_3Mm9Y55IY/UZHSN2a6xlI/AAAAAAAAEGE/ewsaw3xBu0w/s1600/mile+1+maybe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V_3Mm9Y55IY/UZHSN2a6xlI/AAAAAAAAEGE/ewsaw3xBu0w/s400/mile+1+maybe.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Excited at Mile 1</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I made a lightning-fast outhouse stop at mile four, and when I emerged, I could still see the 3:15 pace group off in the distance.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I knew I really wanted to run faster than <a href="http://dailyadventuresgretch.blogspot.com/2012/03/napa-valley-marathon-2012.html" target="_blank">last year’s 3:19 PR at Napa</a>, but I honestly didn’t know if I’d trained well enough for that. I felt wonderful, but of course it was still quite early. My strategy became “Don’t get ahead of the 3:15 pace group.” Sometimes I get a little annoyed at the pace groups because it’s always so crowded around them, but at Eugene, I was truly grateful for that 3:15 group.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Time and again I’d be running along, just going the pace that felt good, and all of a sudden, there he’d be – that guy with the sign that said “3:15.” I’d feel the claustrophobia of the crowd and slow down to let them go ahead. My body wanted to go faster, but my brain said, “Relax. Don’t be stupid!” Generally in these situations, it’s better to listen to your brain.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">the night before, Charlie had studied the map for the best places to cheer, so I knew where to look for her: miles 1, 8, 16, and the finish. This was fortunate, since for most of the day I spotted her before she saw me, and looking forward to those brief encounters was a great way to break up the race.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dAVRQJv1j7Q/UZHTJBgzudI/AAAAAAAAEGQ/vlJ1zwpP53c/s1600/mile+8+I+think.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dAVRQJv1j7Q/UZHTJBgzudI/AAAAAAAAEGQ/vlJ1zwpP53c/s400/mile+8+I+think.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Mile 8</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I entertained myself by trying to memorize all the hilarious signs people had made so that I could share them with you guys. Of course, I can only remember a few, but there were so many good ones! <o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">At mile 1: “The End is Far!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">More than once, I saw: “Pain is temporary, posting on Facebook is forever.” Oh how true.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Held by a dejected looking little girl: “This is the WORST parade ever!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Held by some hipster kid: “Motivational Sign”<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Eventually I promised myself that if I still felt good at mile ten, I would allow myself to pass the 3:15 group. Mile ten came and went, but I was just too uncertain to pick up the pace. Same story at the half marathon. Finally, at mile 15, a parting of the crowd coincided with a short downhill. I took that as a sign and went for it. I averaged seven-flat for the next five miles, and suddenly I only had six miles to go.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bCTlE0WvUjY/UZHTm4MA0gI/AAAAAAAAEGY/Izz1O-2QIGc/s1600/mile+16+by+autzen+stadium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bCTlE0WvUjY/UZHTm4MA0gI/AAAAAAAAEGY/Izz1O-2QIGc/s400/mile+16+by+autzen+stadium.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Mile 18. I felt completely amazing here!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I found myself at the most wondrous of places: at the end of a race, on PR pace, passing other runners like mad, and feeling great. Of course, most people will tell you that mile 20 is nowhere near the end of a marathon, and they’re right. But my ultrarunner’s brain knew it was nothing, and my body told me clearly that it was not going to blow up during the course of the next six miles.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">My pace slipped to 7:10, and I focused on maintaining it. But here’s the thing: when you know you have a big PR in the bag, and you’re really not worried about anything, it’s kind of hard to push yourself. I kept thinking about how I felt during the final miles of Napa last year, and there was a stark contrast. I’d been hurting at Napa, and trying desperately to hang onto a sub-3:20 finish. I’d pushed hard with everything I had.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">But in the final miles of Eugene, I had already exceeded all of my own expectations. I knew there was more in the tank down there somewhere, and I tried hard to go for it – to make this PR as big as possible. But I knew I felt nothing like the pain of mile 25 at Napa. I felt a little guilty for not being able to dive headfirst into the pain cave. A few twinges of guilt, however, could do nothing to derail this train of near marathon perfection.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">The finishline is at Hayward Field, which is so totally, completely awesome, except that you only get to be on the track for, like, ten seconds. The stadium was packed with cheering fans, and people pressed up against the fences. I’m pretty sure they were all screaming my name. Next time, I will run slower for that part. <o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KLW9XRcyPao/UZHUOQDBxeI/AAAAAAAAEGg/aW2GVt44PbA/s1600/finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KLW9XRcyPao/UZHUOQDBxeI/AAAAAAAAEGg/aW2GVt44PbA/s400/finish.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I looked at the clock, and it was rapidly approaching 3:12. I thought, “Ooh, I could go under 3:12!” and sprinted for the line only to miss it by one second. Then I sheepishly realized that was the gun time. My chip time was 3:11:42. Wahoo! An eight minute PR!<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NUqnwxNnCIU/UZHUXu8HWYI/AAAAAAAAEGo/o0hzProSmkU/s1600/finish2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NUqnwxNnCIU/UZHUXu8HWYI/AAAAAAAAEGo/o0hzProSmkU/s400/finish2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The finish line! You can see why I sprinted to make it under 3:12. Heh heh, silly me.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Charlie and I kicked back on the soccer fields with a beer while the worst 80’s cover band ever blared in the background. Just then, the clouds lifted, and the sun shone down on my blissful face. <o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yklMv9vK9Z4/UZHVJXPcPzI/AAAAAAAAEG0/wd-1MkIlvVo/s1600/eugene4boston3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yklMv9vK9Z4/UZHVJXPcPzI/AAAAAAAAEG0/wd-1MkIlvVo/s400/eugene4boston3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Signing the poster for Boston.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ansHZFFA9Jo/UZHVLJVpHrI/AAAAAAAAEG8/JeVn6M8dcfk/s1600/eugene4boston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ansHZFFA9Jo/UZHVLJVpHrI/AAAAAAAAEG8/JeVn6M8dcfk/s400/eugene4boston.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Eugene sent the poster, signed by all the participants, to Boston.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I declared myself in need of a hamburger, so after showers at the hotel, Charlie Googled “best burger in Eugene.” We took a leisurely stroll along the Willamette, through green grass and sunshine and several parks, to get to a place called Cornucopia and the best burgers not only in Eugene, but probably the entire universe.</span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">A few stats on the day:<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Finish: 3:11:42</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">First half: 1:37:10</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Second half: 1:34:32</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Average pace: 7:19<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I know what you’re thinking: “You started too slow!” But I really have to disagree. I always do better when I have a negative split. Maybe I could have picked up another minute with a faster first half, but I have absolutely no regrets about how this played out.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">And seriously, you should go run the Eugene Marathon. <o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0Ypro3bjbf0/UZHWCIWzc7I/AAAAAAAAEHU/jm850r4BQ-E/s1600/after+finish+with+chuck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0Ypro3bjbf0/UZHWCIWzc7I/AAAAAAAAEHU/jm850r4BQ-E/s400/after+finish+with+chuck.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"> </span>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01132576974564001603noreply@blogger.com9